Crowned of flowers
by ChaosGin
Summary: This story has been plaguing my mind for weeks so I'm writing it down. Basically a 10th walker, it will follow the story of an exiled from Gondor who travelled the east for years, now forced to face her past and deal with it. I just wanted to give everyone a happy ending and save them from death even though I will have them go through terrible pains all the way!
1. Across the mountians

**Author's Note**: I own nothing except original character.

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Naethri was gathering her thoughts on what to do next while she mechanically twined flowers between her fingers, braiding a crown. She'd hid herself as best she could in the endless plains, her figure shielded from the sight of travellers by some of the random rocks and boulders scattered around. Her precaution could seem rather unnecessary considering how rare it was to stumble upon travellers in that area but Naethri had grown to be cautious and to always be wary of the unexpected. Along the years she made sure survival was her greatest art. She had concluded her solitary banquet and quickly put out the fire she'd lit to cook it , after all it was merely midday, the sun shone fiercely and spread its warmth on the plains. She was far too close to the lands of the elves and she was not very fond of the creatures, their highly developed senses made them hard for her to either elude or trick. On the other hand she could not go back the way she came from. Once again the race of men had turned its back on her and she was shunned, exiled from another city. She forced herself not to give into anger at the thought of her misadventure, she had learned to suppress anger, she had to be free from its restraints. She closed her eyes and leaned against the uneven rock . Her efforts to meditate the anger away were disturbed by the sounds of an approaching party from afar. Confident of her hideout she concentrated on the sounds, planning to examine the travellers only once they'd passed her. For an instant she considered they might find her cluster of rocks an appealing spot for a rest. If that turned out to be the case there was not much for her to do, so she simply waited for the events to unfold, she'd figure out what to do when the time came.

The approaching company was unusually noisy. Their steps heavy and slow, their weapons clattering loudly, voices deep and rough but still too far for Naethri to hear anything of what they spoke. Those could not be elves, so the only possible guess was for them to be dwarves. They headed west and Naethri assumed they were coming from the north, the Grey Mountains most likely, Ered Mithrin. But why were they on the road that led to the Misty Mountains? Under those mountains she knew of a goblin town, but perhaps they travelled to Khazad-dum. As the noisy group got closer to her hiding spot their voices became clearer although still rouged and coarse. They spoke in a harsh language that Naethri could not understand. Quietly she rose to a crouching position and manoeuvred herself behind her rock in order to carefully peak. It was indeed a small party of dwarves, short, gruff and heavy on their feet, further hindered by the heavy clothes they wore and their axes. How odd it was to cross paths with dwarves in open fields. They kept to themselves most of the time, hiding in the depths of mountains, digging for gold, silver and gems. Gold, silver and gems. Maybe they were a party of merchants, perhaps traders. In any case they were bound to have valuables with them. If she managed to get a hold of something valuable enough she might be able to go east, across the elven realm of Mirkwood and to the towns of Dale or Laketown. Or better yet move west towards Bree. She had never been west. She may not have had a precise plan, but she was drawn to the dwellings of fellow men. She placed the flower crown, momentarily abandoned, on her head and decided to wait for the dwarves to be far enough, so she would pass unnoticed when she began tracking them down, following them, waiting for a chance to make a stealthy move.

For days Naethri carefully followed the dwarves form a considerable distance, getting closer at night, studying her prey. The yellow and green plains were scattered with rocks that lay about like dark freckles on the earth. Far east she had lost sight of the river Anduin, but on the west the cloudy tops of the Misty Mountains could be seen, grim and stern. Naethri was not particularly enthusiast of being caught between the elven woodland kingdom and the perilous mountains. To make it less safe for her, rumour had it that a gigantic bear-man wondered these lands, which made her uneasy. Truth be told thieving was not her favourite pursuit but she'd been roaming the west aimlessly for a long time so the prospect of gathering some wealth, enough to avoid wandering the wilderness for a time, was somewhat restoring in itself. It meant she would be able to seek the comfort of a warm bath in the privacy of a room, in an inn where she could pay a few coins to be delivered a hot meal she did not have to hunt or cook, the luxury of ale. It would only suffice for a short time but she would move on her path afterwards as she always did.

As the days passed Naethri grew bolder in her pursuit of the dwarves, getting closer and closer in the dark, giving them space in the day. She was much faster than them so she had no problems to catch up with them in the evening and this also gave her extra time to rest in the morning. The more confident she was the closer she got to them and she was also deeply troubled when she started to notice they travelled remarkably light. Their clothes looked very plain, although she noticed they wore several layers, among which heavy chain mails, she could not distinguish much more in the pale light of their campfire. They did not seem rich at all. Then again she knew very little of dwarven fashion, yet she came to believe these dwarves carried nothing of value with them. The seed of doubt was thus planted in her mind.

The dwarves travelled slowly, too slow in fact to Naethri's taste, for she was used to travel alone, and she moved light and fast. Two weeks had passed since she first saw them west of the Anduin and it took them several days more to reach the feet of the Misty Mountains. Still Naethri's mind was pestered with thoughts of uncertainty. Was it truly worth her while to follow these dwarves just to steal a meagre amount of riches? Did they have any at all? They didn't look particularly wealthy to her. On the other hand she had nowhere to be, nowhere to go in fact. She had no plan at all, nowhere to return to, nothing better to do. So if they had nothing of value with them now it didn't mean much. They were dwarves: they were probably also merchants, maybe that's why they were going to the Misty Mountains. Wasn't there a dwarvish kingdom beneath these mountains? Moria. The mines of Moria struck a chord in her mind. She'd heard something about them but she could not recall.

Walking beneath the silvery glow of the stars at a reasonable distance behind the dwarves she looked at the dark mountains ahead. Doubt strung her again. To follow the dwarves through the mountains was going to be a tiring task and the reward was not certain. Besides, if she waited at the foot of the mountains long enough, once the dwarves were headed back east with their goods, she could sneak up on them in the plains and take what she needed, without having to make the unnecessary effort of climbing up the mountains. Then again they may be going further west. Rivendell was on the other side of the mountains and many more dwellings of men. There was little interaction between elves and dwarves, it was well known, but there had always been trading. Or she could be wrong again and they were actually returning to their home in the Misty Mountains and if that was the case she'd have nothing to gain from following them.

The more her doubt grew the more distance she put between herself and the dwarves' party. On the morrow the dwarves were clearing their camp and, slowly as ever, made their way towards the High Pass, somewhat confirming Naethri's theory that they were likely heading for Rivendell since the elves had built their shelter right at the end of the Pass. She watched them from behind the rocks and bushes and, according to her routine, let them gain some distance before following them. In her wait she spotted a bush of irises not far from her, so she knelt down next to it. She delved her hand in the violet soft cloud the petals formed, silky under her touch, bothered by the fact that their stalk was too hard for her to twist and twine in a crown. Soon though her thoughts ran back to the mountains under whose shadow she sat. The dwarves faced a perilous trek, for it was well known that goblins infested the Misty Mountains and there was talk of orc treading this area.

With a heavy sigh she lifted her head to stare at the shadowy peaks. With a breath of the crispy autumn breeze her thoughts were carried back to darker times, and daunting memories danced behind her eyes, now unfocused. Again she heard, clear as if it was truly happening, the roars of the orcs, their evil snickering, she recalled the repulsive feeling of their slimy and coarse fingers on her arms, the intolerable pain that always followed. But Naethri was looking at the irises once more and forced her consciousness back to reality. There was no use in lingering, she'd killed orcs before. If it proved profitless to follow the dwarves through the High Pass she would lead on and eventually reach Bree. Naethri plucked the flower she liked best, cut off part of the stem with her knife and tucked it in her hair. The dwarves had already disappeared between the rocks so she collected her things back in her pack, slipped her doublet on and fastened the sword belt around her waist, above an old scarf she kept tied around her hips. While she climbed through the Pass echoes of the dwarves conversing and of the clattering axes reached her, guiding her through the rocks.

Sleeping on the mountains was a treacherous business. Not always was it possible to find hollows where to take shelter, especially as Naethri was making sure she didn't get to close to the party; neither could she go back, it was never a good idea to go back when pursuing a prey. Quickly both night and day became hard to endure: the higher the travellers climbed the more brittle and slippery the Pass became, until the mountains raged against them with all their might, cold rain pouring down almost incessantly, the hours of light and those of darkness undistinguishable due to the clouds hanging overhead, looking so thick and close yet unreachable, the foggy atmosphere enlightened only by loud thunders and blinding lightning . For days Naethri was soaked to the bone, her sore feet slipping on the rocks, her eyes contoured by dark shadows out of lack of sleep, almost impossible under the constant shower and very light even when sheltered. Often she thought of legends and myths, of mountains taking life and moving or throwing rocks all around. The most dangerous part of the Pass was yet to come, when the path shrivelled against the mountain, so narrow a man would have to keep himself securely pressed against the rock in order not to fall down the ravine. This part of the journey would likely prove hardest to the company of dwarves, broader and heavier than Naethri; to rest was out of the question at this point.

The food supplies she had were shortening within the week but Naethri drew a sigh of relief when the hardest part of the hike was over and a little at the time they descended in altitude. The landscape increased in colour, the grass again growing on the ground, the rocks no longer covering every inch of the earth but more sparsely scattered. But the autumn weather was altering the environment, and the colour most prominent on the ground and on the rare trees was yellow, the leaves drying and falling, only the bravest and strongest of flowers blooming occasionally here and there. With no flower to entwine Naethri took up a blond leaf from the ground to tuck among her auburn hair, collected in an elegant bun out of her face, save for a few lose strands.

On the open ground she took her time tailing the dwarves, tracing them from the tracks they left behind, to make sure they wouldn't spot her here on the open plain. But a plain it was not because they were still up in the mountains, descending towards the moorlands. It was a matter of days before they'd be able to see the Bruinen rushing southward through Eregion. Whether the dwarves were headed for Moria or Cordolan they were bound to get closer to the river. Once they were on top of the gorge from which the Bruinen began they kept their descent straight towards the elven refuge of Rivendell. If they were to terminate their journey in Rivendell Naethri would have to tread carefully for the elves kept their lands well protected and it was harder to sneak past them when compared with the dwarves and menfolk. Although she did not fear them, for the elves were unlikely to harm a lone female traveller, she was tentative towards them, after all she was still planning to steal anything that may be of use to her and it mattered not who she stole it form.

As the dwarves made their way down the mountain towards Rivendell Naethri lingered on the cliffs, at this point she ran no risk of losing them. So she took her time to rest, prepare herself a meal, mostly she revelled in the peace the place radiated. The Bruinen launched itself vehemently in the valley, but the crashing sound of the water was soothing. From atop the mounts she saw it sparkle and reflect the cold rays of the October sun like a handful of glittering jewels would. In the valley lay the Last Homely House East of the Sea, surrounded by trees of golden leaves swaying in the brisky breeze and gently falling on the roofs of the settlements and the gazeboes and the patioes open to welcome the ember light.


	2. A captured shadow

**Author's Note**: I own Nothing save the original character and eventually mentioned peoples of The Beaches, a land of my own invention.

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The dwarves crossed the gates of Imladris, the house of Lord Elrond, with the appropriate suspicion with which their race was used to approach the elves. Their bushy brows furrowed, their eyes almost disappearing among the luscious hair and beards they were so proud of. They were already unhappy of their treatment and as they walked towards the main house they grunted their discontent. On their part the elves of Rivendell were prepared to face the rudeness of the dwarves, it was not the first time the two races met after all, so they kept their guard high but expressed only the calm countenance of their folk. Once the party was introduced to the elven lord, Gloin wasted no time to voice his discontent. 'It seems elven hospitality is just as disrespectful towards dwarves as last time I was received. To have us followed! Umph. An absurdity! Such treatment will not be forgotten. As if we were but thieves' voiced the dwarf with anger.

'Master Gloin, you have come to Rivendell of your own free will but, I can assure you, you are most welcome in my house once again. You will receive the treatment worthy of an old friend and ally' replied Lord Elrond calmly with his firm voice.

'Then what was the point of having us followed? Eh? Were you so concerned we'd get lost you felt the need to have one of you spies track us?' spat the hot tempered Gimli.

'I've had nobody following you, dear guests. Are you sure of what you speak?' a slight crease of worry blemished the elven lord's pale forehead.

'As sure as I am a son of Durin! A tall slim fellow followed us through the High Pass for weeks. If you claim it's not one of your spies…'

'Then it must be one of the enemy's spies' Elrond cut off Gloin's train of thoughts.

He turned to one of the guards and gravely ordered in the language of the elves to hunt down the spy, surely still in proximity of Imladris, and to bring him back alive. A party of guards began a thorough patrol of the surrounding lands and if fact it didn't take them long to spot the intruder. In the darkest hour of the night a dark figure was spotted silently approaching the settlement; but menfolk don't have a sense of hearing as developed as the elves so the figure was caught unprepared when it was surrounded by elven blades. By the light of dawn, with wrists tied together, an unwilling prisoner was being dragged to face Lord Elrond. The prisoner insisted on wriggling its hands in the hope to be free of its bonds while the elven lord stood assessing. A meagre fellow clad in brown leather doublet and boots, dark breeches, carrying small pack, a sword at its side and his head and face covered by an old shawl, or scarf, with dark stains, so that only the grey eyes could be seen. He gestured to one of his soldiers who tugged at the prisoner's scarf revealing a cloud of auburn hair and the face of a woman, tensely and fearlessly glaring at the elf.

Although mildly surprised he asked her 'What is the reason of your intrusion, child?'

'I was going to steal some food' promptly answered the young woman, her expression hard.

'You would follow a party of dwarves all the way through the Misty Mountains to Rivendell only to steal some food? It was the enemy who sent you, did he not?' pressed Elrond.

'I am not a spy, my Lord. Set me free and I will not trouble you any longer. Please' she begged, yet with great dignity, her head held high.

In that moment the Grey Wizard entered the room and eyed first Elrond, then the young woman, with surprise and concern.

'It is cunning of the Dark Lord to send a girl to spy on the elves' said the wizard slowly.

Trying to elude the grip of the elf guard next to her she hissed 'I am no spy. Let me on my way.'

'Who are you? Where did you come from?' asked the old man, less sternly.

At first she did not answer, hesitation hanged on her lips, but then she hardened once more 'What is it to you? My name will make no difference, and I come from nowhere at all. So what is the point? Let me go on my way. Please.'

The wizard took a step towards the prisoner and sensed something dark around her, what it was he could not define though. 'There is darkness shrouding you. I sense the evil of Mordor about you. You were there. You have seen the evil growing beyond the Mountains of Shadow. You have seen the Eye.'

The woman's eyes seemed to deaden, to lose focus. 'I have' she whispered.

The elven lord and the wizard shared a look of concern. 'Speak forth, child' ordered the elf.

'Please, my Lord..' there was no strength in her voice now.

'Speak forth.'

She was silent for a while, but then she gave a brief account of her trials. 'I was banished from Gondor unjustly some years ago. The Steward.. He is growing paranoid. The evil of Mordor sheds a dark shadow on the White City. I was barely a woman, I had nothing with me, I didn't know how to survive on my own. I took to roam along the Anduin, to maybe reach Pelargir, though I moved north instead of south. Then I was captured by orcs. They took me beyond the Ash Mountains, where they beat me and starved me for days. I was left to rot in the tower of Cirith Ungol for months, tortured and abused. Until I died. At least my hope had died. My heart had died. Once they were done with me I was not even good to eat, so I was thrown away. I don't remember much from then. I must have been rotting in Gorgoroth but at some point I was dragged in the foul waters that lead to the Sea of Nurnen' she paused, still enraptured in memories.

'This cannot be' said Elrond, both listeners astonished and suspicious. 'If you speak the truth it is a miracle you have survived such tortures, even to have maintained the will to live. But it cannot be. The is no way you could've escaped.'

The woman woke from her reverie, anger burning in her eyes. 'Yet here I stand, my Lords. The scars of Mordor stain my flesh. The horrors I've seen, that I have felt, I will never forget. For six months I walked through the Black Lands and beyond. For six months! I made my way beyond the Sea of Rhun, beyond the Empty Lands. When I was found by another human being I was a ghost. A shadow.'

'This is absurdity. Beyond the Empty Lands!' frustration stained the words of Lord Elrond.

Satisfied by the incredulity of the elf, the woman smirked. 'Yes, my Lord. They are not empty at all as it turns out. There are people further east. Beyond the regions where the Easterlings live there is a vast wasteland but further east the is the sea' her eyes wide in remembrance. 'And the people far east are kind, my Lord. They healed me. For more than a year they took me in as one of their own. And the shadows of Mordor don't reach that far. They are free from our evils.'

The two elders were left speechless for some time, pondering those words.

'My Lords. I've shared my story, there is nothing more to tell. Now let me go on my way' asked the prisoner once more.

To fool both the elven lord and the Grey Wizard was not easy, if not impossible. They knew she spoke the truth, the implications of which were overwhelming. People beyond the Empty Lands, a sea in the east! But, most pressing, a human had survived the tortures of Mordor and seemed to know its geography well. While gazing at the girl the elven Lord ordered the guard to take her away and to find her a room where she could rest, but to keep watch at her door. Unaware of what was ordered, not understanding their language, the girl screamed in protest, resisting her captor, until she was later shoved through a door into a room with a bed and a tub and a small balcony. There she stood surprised and turned to the guard to ask something, but he left without a word locking the door to her suspiciously comfortable room.

At length the wizard and the elf discussed the tale they heard from the woman. They considered whether she could prove herself useful through her knowledge of Mordor. Chances were she knew her way in through the safest passages and, considering what they planned to share during the Council that was to take place shortly, she could know also a way out. After all she had already managed to escape. In addition her words on the Steward of Gondor only confirmed Gandalf's assumptions since last time he visited the city five months back; the uncertainties of the current times weighed gravely on the Steward, fear and responsibility had started to mar his sanity. Then again they had no idea what crime she committed, though it must've been grave indeed if she was banished for it. They had a great number of questions to inquire from her and their consultation went on for a long time.


	3. Forced permanence

**Author's Note**: I own Nothing save the original character and eventually mentioned peoples of The Beaches, a land of my own invention.

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Many questions were answered in the following days. It took several sessions to extrapolate a name out of the mysterious prisoner, but though aloof she was reasonably behaved so the guard at her door was dispensed and she was free to move about the house of the elves. Their food she accepted without a question, though she ate it in the solitude of her rooms, and she was also offered clothes, gowns especially, which she refused, so she was later provided with more masculine garments. Some of the other guests of Elrond eyed her suspiciously. Everyone knew she was the one who followed the dwarves through the High Pass, but nobody knew much else for Lord Elrond and Gandalf had shared any information with only a selected few, such as Aragorn and the elven lord Glorfindel. She was once spotted in the kitchens where she was pouring lemon juice in a bowl full of a powder that smelled strongly like earth and dried weeds. While she blended the muddy paste with a gloved hand two very short people approached her with curiosity.

'That doesn't smell very nice' said the shortest of the two. 'Are you going to eat that?'

Naethri looked up, or rather down, to him. He was barely taller than a child but he had the face of a man, a naïve one at that. She was not in the mood for conversation, she spent much of her time on her own so she was used to the silence, yet the only conversations she'd been forced to engage in where the interrogatories of the elven lords and the wizard, the only topic her captivity in Cirith Ungol or her march eastbound.

'You are as tall as a child, but you are not children.' She stated staring at both of them.

'Children! Ah!' Scoffed the taller of the two. 'No, no miss. We are hobbits. Meriadoc Brandybuck at your service, and this here is my cousin Peregrin Took' and both of them slightly bowed.

'A hobbit. I have never met a hobbit' Naethri said more to herself, all the while kneading the paste with her hand.

'We come from the Shire, the most beautiful place in all Middle-Earth, miss. West of Bree.' Said merrily Mr Took.

Naethri went back to stare at the bowl. 'Had I managed to steal something of value I would have been able to reach Bree' her words were still addressed more to herself than to anyone else.

'A nasty place that is though, miss. All those tall-people, and not very nice to hobbits.' Said Mr Barndybuck.

'But they do serve ale in pints' pondered Mr Took in fond recollection.

Not once the woman smiled at them, in her grey eyes there was mostly sadness. Yet she was not bothered by them, in fact she appreciated their good nature and kindness.

'Come, miss. It is not so bad here, is it?' said the familiar voice of the wizard, who suddenly arrived. 'We have provided you with a soft bed, a warm bath and all the food you can eat. It must be better that sleeping in a ditch every night' he smiled at her, his old eyes full of compassion. Over all he was very kind to her, much like a grandfather. She'd never had a grandfather, her father was not particularly young himself.

'Yes but what is that stuff you are going to eat? It has a very peculiar smell and a horrible look' asked again Mr Took.

'It is not to eat, Mr Took.' She answered simply. She took off the dirty glove resting it on her lap and wrapped the bowl in her old stained scarf, to cover it and keep it warm.

Then she looked at Gandalf and understood she was requested once again. She was swamped with questions by her hosts yet she had just as many to ask, questions she did not voice because she feared the answers or simply because she feared they wouldn't be answered at all. For instance she wondered how long was she to remain their captive. No matter how soft her bed she was still held prisoner by the elves, she could not just walk out the gate and leave, she'd already tried that some days ago. Curiosity also nagged at the back of her mind as to why were they so interested in Mordor anyway. She hoped they were forming a resistance. She hoped the free people of Middle-Earth would fight back, not just endure its attacks. To see the towers of Mordor crash to the ground and the Black Gate destroyed was her heart's most secret and fervent desire.

With her bowl of mud she followed Gandalf to a room where Elrond was waiting for her speaking to a tall man, with eyes grey like hers and black hair, like she once had. She had seen him before in the past days, and every time she thought he was just like the men described in the books she studied as a girl, that told the stories of Numenor and the kings of old. But the Numenorean blood was strong in her city, many had traits such as those, she was proof of that herself. He was introduced to her simply as Aragorn, a Ranger of the North, and he didn't ask her any question, he only listened.

'The dwarves are not happy about the indulgence we have shown towards you' said Lord Elrond.

'Then let me go. Tell the dwarves you banished me and let me be on my way. I am used to that. Just let me go' insisted Naethri.

'On the contrary,' interceded Gandalf 'we were hoping you would do us the honour of joining a gathering that is going to take place tomorrow. I'm sure if you share your tale the dwarves would give up their suspicion of you.'

'I am not going to seek the benevolence of the dwarves by making them pity me.' She replied offended.

'My girl, nobody is here to pity you. In fact we admire your strength. After all you have endured your will is strong and I can see that you have a good heart. Lord Elrond has called together a council. Today a man arrived from Gondor so we have decided it is time to elucidate to the exponents of the main races of Middle-Earth as to the actions to take against Sauron. It would be most helpful of you to share some of you hindsight.' Explained the wizard with a smile.

'A man from Gondor?' she paled. She considered his reaction if he recognized her. Anyone would know who she was. Her disgrace so public, it must have been the talk of the capital for a long time.

'You need to fear.' Said Lord Elrond guessing her thoughts. 'Many years have passed since you were exiled. He probably won't even know who you are.' But she was looking at the ground, her concern had not diminished so he pressed again one of the questions she still refused to answer. 'He will recognize you, won't he? Your crime must have been very grave if you sill fear repercussions. What did you do that is so shameful?'

By pure coincidence that specific phrasing did the trick, Naethri in fact turned around, her face aflame. 'Shameful? Shameful?' her voice raising uncontrollably. 'Is it shameful to stop injustice to take place? Is it, my Lords? The judges were putting innocents to death with the accusation of theft against some of the lords that make up the Council of the Steward. I helped them escape. That was my true crime. To save fathers who could not feed their children. The splendour of Gondor keeps fading the more the shadows of Mordor expand but such injustice is too low even in times as hard as these. Especially in times as hard as these. When I was discovered I was dragged in front of the Council and they accused me of treason. Of insubordination against the Ruling Steward. The things they said. The things _he_ did.' After her burst she could speak no more, bitter memories flooding her mind, hot tears of anger flooding her eyes but she did not shed a single one. More quietly she resumed 'They dragged me out of the Citadel, screaming false accusations, that I had attacked the Steward himself. My own father turned his back on me. My dress was torn, things were thrown at me, they took my shoes and pulled my hair. I was made a spectacle through all seven levels of Minas Tirith. Until the gate, which close behind me.'

After a few moments of silence, an eternity for Naethri for she felt the compassion and the pity of the presents even if they did not voice it, Lord Elrond assured her 'If anyone will voice their opposition about your presence they will answer of that to me. No one will be allowed to verbally assault you, although I can make no promises for the dwarves.' The hint of a smile was hidden on his lips. 'Someone will came and fetch you when your presence will be requested. Also you will not be forced to share all about your past, but many will have questions so be prepared.'

Naethri nodded in silence. She knew there was no point in arguing. Then Aragorn walked towards her, he lifted his hand to her back, without touching her, to indicate her that he was going to accompany her back to her room. So they left the wise men and walked together in silence until she stopped on her tracks and looked at him in the eye. 'You yourself look like a man from Gondor, my Lord.' She said.

'I was not born in the kingdom of Gondor' he answered politely.

'Yet the blood of Numenor is strong in you' she continued. 'You would not look out of place in the higher levels of Minas Tirith in fact', she was intrigued.

A feeble smirk curved his lips 'I have fought alongside many gondorians. A very wise men used to ask my opinion and advice often when I served Gondor.'

'There are very few wise gondorians left, my Lord. How long ago were you last in Gondor?' there were many things she wanted to know of the capital, and of some of its inhabitants, but she would not ask them directly.

'There were when I was there, but that was over forty years ago. Times grow darker, the minds of the wisest are clouded' he smiled softly at her and with a small bow he left. Evidently he didn't want her to pry any more than she already did with those very few questions.

On her way to her rooms she could not help but think of his answers. Forty years ago. He looked barely forty himself. What did he mean? How could he speak of things that happened so long ago. When she entered her room she placed the bowl she still carried on the vanity and laid on the bed, waiting for the paste to be ready so she could dye her hair again, the black was starting to show at the base. All the while she kept making conjectures about this Aragorn. She remembered of how the Numenoreans settled in Middle-Earth and the Faithful among them created the Kingdoms of Arnor and Gondor, their kings descendant of the Lords of Andunie. But the kings of old were the lost, and their line was broken. According to legends though the sons of Elendil, the Dunedains, were blessed with long age. Could their blood still flow through Middle-Earth? Could this ranger be one of the Dunedains? If that was so he could have fought for Gondor forty years ago, like he claimed to have done. He could have fought for Ecthelion II. Had he really been the advisor of the Steward? The name Thorongil sprang to her mind all of a sudden. If she was right the Ranger could have been Thorongil himself, a man she had heard of only in the histories she cherished so much as a girl. Later in the afternoon she applied the paste to her hair and wrapped her head in the scarf, shaping a turban in the form in fashion in the Beaches far east.

Naethri remained in her room for most of the day. She did not want to spend any time with people, she knew she was forced to face a whole council the following day and she was not happy about it. She dedicated her time to examining the contents of her pack. The powder she used to dye her hair was running low and she sighed. She had to make a visit to the east if she wanted to keep hiding her inky hair, to hide her true kinship. To reach the east would take time though, and in that case she would have to post pone her settlement to the west, or change it all together and try her fortune in Dale. If her heart was not so heavy she would have been happy to settle on the eastern Beach, but her peace did not last long anywhere. At length she thought of the paramour she left but she knew they had parted of joint accord, one headed back west, the other sailing east over the Bridge, as they called the sea on the Beaches, to explore new lands. The absence of her paramour was not so grievous to her anyway, the Beaches were a safe haven for women, compared to the rest of Middle-Earth. The society was exclusively matriarchal and there was much, if not complete, freedom for women, who formed at least half of the military ranks. The most important man was the General of this army, and he was so highly regarded because he was in fact the chief protector of the Queen. There was no king in the Beaches. In that regards it didn't really differ from Gondor, neither Gondor had had a King for a long time. They had vanished with the blood of the Dunedains. Yet..if Aragorn and Thorongil truly were one and the same, therefore a Duneadain, then he could also be linked to the line of Kings! Naethri stared wide eyed at the dried flowers she used to perfume her pack, stunned by the conclusion her deductions took. When the sun was close to setting she undressed and washed herself with vigour to take the muddy paste out of her hair.


	4. Gathering

**Author's Note**: I own Nothing save the original character and eventually mentioned peoples of The Beaches, a land of my own invention and is not part of Middle-Earth.

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Naethri was restless. So restless she barely slept and by dawn she was sitting in her bed, thinking of the upcoming confrontation with strangers to who she was to tell of her past. Every night she wished she could forget the horrors she had been through. However, part of her felt like to forget would be a defeat, as if she had been completely annihilated. She had survived. No, she was reborn. On the Beaches she was healed, she was loved, she was taught. Many things she learned on the Beaches. She had learned to ride in Gondor, as was proper, she had also learned how to wield a sword, which was not as proper but she had insisted, she had also learnt to hold her liquor, which was absolutely indecent. She grew up among grown men in Minas Tirith and they took in good humour her wild nature, moreover they used to their advantage her small size and her young age, which made her often invisible and unsuspected whenever a prank was to be pulled, food was to be stolen and secret messages delivered to mysterious lovers. But on the Beaches she was taught to truly fight, not only with a sword, her survival skills were improved and perfected, she learned to track a prey and to travel the wild for days without reducing herself to the rotting shell she had become crossing the Empty Lands.

Above all she felt loved and accepted. Which was all very nice, but there was a hollow within her. She had been hollow before she reached the Beaches though. This hollow grew wider every time she had been raped and tortured, she was sure this hollow had engulfed her whole when she lay dying in the Black Land. This hollow could not be healed by the people of the Beaches, not by their kindness, nor by their love. The more she tried to fill it the more she realized that it could not be healed, at least not in the Beaches. That was the reason she moved back to Middle-Earth, but she was not sure what to do exactly to cure the sickness of her soul. Perhaps she could feel whole again only when the Dark Lord would be defeated, if ever he was to be defeated. But there were countless possibilities, countless could be the reasons she felt as she did.

Her reverie was interrupted later in the morning when a guard came to knock at her door. It was time for her to join the Council. She tucked her white tunic in the dark breeches, slid her boots on and tightened her corset as much as she could. Her hair she twisted in a loose braid and rolled it in a soft bun. She took a moment to look at herself in the mirror on the vanity. The shadows beneath her eyes had disappeared and to her delight the dye she had applied the previous day left her hair a coppery red, radiant like fire under the sunlight. Her tunic was open around her collarbone forming a V to where her breast were pushed up by the corset and on which a small pendant rested. It was a white shimmering stone held at each side by raven's feet, a keepsake of another life. On her face she always wore a hard expression, her smiles as rare as eclipses, bending many to subjection, but her body was soft and welcoming, her breast generous and her hips wide and round.

Outside her rooms were two elves and they escorted her to a colonnade shadowed by trees that were raining yellow leaves on the ground. The colonnade was somewhat hidden behind the round patio that was to host the Council but Naethri could not see it form where she waited. One of the elves that guided her there invited her to take a seat on the bench behind the columns. And so she sat, and she waited. She heard people approaching so she stood to her feet, but nobody came her way though the sound of steps was close, hidden from her view by the trees and the columns. It seemed to her a great number of people were gathered and a slight sense of nervousness assailed her. She did not like this. After a few moments of silence she distinguished the voice of Lord Elrond addressing his guests with grave words on the threat of Mordor, then asked for a ring to be brought forth. Naethri remembered the stories she had learned and read over and over in her youth about the Ring of Power, the Dark Lord's weapon and the doom it brought upon Isildur. Surely the One Ring could not be there, it was too dangerous to keep such accursed object within the reach of anyone, in fact it should be hidden away, lost, or destroyed.

Naethri gasped in shock when a voice spoke. She didn't even hear his words, too great was her astonishment when she recognized that voice. A voice that spoke from her past, a past that had been thrown to the winds the days she was thrown out of the Great Gate of Minas Tirith. Suddenly she stood again, she had to leave. She could not face this council. Her guards stood in front of her the moment she tried to take a step away from the bench. She fumbled at the tie of her tunic and laced it beneath her collarbone, to hide her jewel and the swell of her breast, to make her appearance more modest in front of the strangers she would be forced to face. Another voice spoke and it spoke words of darkness in a language she did not understand but which she recognized very well. The language of Mordor, the Black Speech. Her heart was racing and her expression was pained as if she'd been beaten. It was as if a dark cloud spread all around, swallowing all the light and her breath was heavy and fear was dragging her down, sinking her through the ground. Her guards were horrified as well, shuddering in fear. Gandalf was the one speaking and when he silenced, and the darkness retreated, he spoke of the evilness of the Ring. So it was true.

But the voice that haunted her spoke again. It spoke of Gondor with passion, of its courage and of the burden crushing it. It also spoke of the Ring as a gift, as a weapon to be used against the enemy. Naethri hung her head in disappointment. She didn't know much of the Ring but nothing that came from Mordor would be of any aid to menfolk. A fool, a desperate man, would put his hopes in the Ring. Aragorn spoke her very thoughts but a brief altercation took place between the two men, interrupted by a voice to her unknown to silence the gondorian, introducing Aragorn as the son of Arathorn, confirming another of her conjectures about the Ranger, him being the heir to the throne of Gondor, Isildur's hair. She heard Elrond command for the Ring to be destroyed and silence fell for a while. Suddenly a gruff voice spoke and a crash followed, then Elrond explained that the only way to destroy the Ring was to cast it back into the fires of Mount Doom, where it was forged. Now she understood everything. That was the reason she was there. They needed to know how to reach Mount Doom. That's why they kept her there.

Boromir, Captain-General of the White Tower, son of Denethor II Steward of Gondor, spoke again. What Lord Elrond was suggesting was a desperate idea, and he knew it well. The people of Gondor were haunted by the sight of Mordor and its dark fumes and ever burning fire. If from afar it was a dreadful sight she could only confirm it was worse once the mountains were crossed. The air of Mordor seemed foul from outside, it was impossible to breathe from within. Another bickering began when the unknown voice defended Elrond's suggestion and was then attacked by the gruff voice that belonged probably to one of the dwarves she had followed. The argument grew heated and many voices spoke all at once. Naethri gazed at one of her guards, who understood she felt the need to approach the Council so he led her towards the patio, where the voices became closer and louder, until she was standing behind Elrond. The patio was round and coasted by chairs, at the centre lay a round small altar and all around it men, elves and dwarves were arguing in frustration and anger. She gazed around them and saw the man that came from Gondor. He hadn't seen her yet, so taken was everyone in their dispute no one saw her approach, so she breathed slowly and kept her face firm as a mask of stone. She would not give him any satisfaction. Her attention was caught by a glimmer on the altar and she saw the Ring. And she heard its dark whispers. She took a step back in horror but the guard behind her stopped her.

She was roused from the dark pit she was falling into when a small voice silenced all the others. A small man, a hobbit, volunteered to take the Ring. She stood breathless in front of such foolishness and courage but still no one saw her shadowed by the elven lord, everyone's attention focused on the hobbit. After an initial silence Gandalf approached the hobbit and promised him his assistance, presently Aragorn promised him his allegiance, and he was followed by an elf, to whom belonged the voice she did not know, one of her dwarves, and at last Boromir. Suddenly another hobbit popped out of the bushes claiming that Mr Frodo would go nowhere without him, then another two small figures sprang from behind her and ran to the group. The two hobbits she had previously met also insisted to join the quest. Once Elrond approved of the party he turned towards her and gestured for her to take his seat. She looked in the eyes of the elven lord like a child lost in dark woods. The effort he silently expected her to make was so very hard.

All the people present turned to look at the woman that walked with her head held high and sat with grace and firmness in the chair Lord Elrond had occupied, folding her hands elegantly in her lap. At first she only looked at the Ring in front of her. Slowly she raised her eyes to the elf and then to the Fellowship appointed to take the Ring to Mordor. When she looked at Boromir she did not flinch, but he was frozen in shock, his mouth slightly agape though no sound he breathed. Naethri moved her eyes to look at the brave hobbit. His face was so young and sweet, he looked so small, like a child. Her instinct was to take him between her arms and hold him tight. She kept her eyes on him, filled with sadness, he did not know that hardships he was to endure. He looked so pure. But in his eyes she recognized the shadows of her own, not as dark yet, but they were there. He had been poisoned, quite like her.

The quiet was disturbed by the dwarf, who complained 'What is that thief doing here? Why was she allowed here?'

'This thief is Naethri' interceded Gandalf to silence the dwarf. 'Naethri was a citizen of Gondor once. She was captured by orcs while she was travelling north along the Anduin and taken prisoner to Cirith Ungol where she was tortured for months until presumed dead. Yet, as you all can see, she sits here with us, alive. Only one other creature has escaped the dungeons of Mordor.'

'It is impossible' said the elf that pledged to aid Mr Frodo in the destruction of the Ring.

Naethri slowly turned her face towards him and spoke softly. 'You are right. It is impossible to survive the dungeons of Mordor. I have not survived. I was drowning in the Sea of Nurnen. I have perished crossing the Black Lands. I am a just shadow of who I once was. But the Black Gate is not the only way inside of Mordor. And death is not the only way out of it.'

'Naethri' Gandalf addressed her gently. 'I know it is much to ask of you and you are free to refuse us any kind of help, you are free to leave Rivendell if so you wish.' She knew very well what he was going to ask her. 'Will you aid us in our quest? Show us the secret ways into Mordor and guides us out?'

She looked at him as if he were a vision, and not a real man in front of her. Then she lowered her eyes back to the hobbit Frodo. 'How foolish you have been Mr Frodo, to take up this burden of your own free will' she said slowly, her eyes heavy with sadness. 'The horrors I have seen were so gruesome they will torment even my eternal sleep. The thought of crossing its mountains again fills my heart with fear and dread. But I will help you, guide you and protect you.'

'Is it wise to take with us the woe she carries with her name alone?' said the elf that was to partake her journey eyeing her suspiciously.

Gandalf smiled and shared a look with Elrond 'Why not? Besides, I believe in fact that she is actually rather lucky. Maybe she will bring us luck after all.'

Once the Fellowship was confirmed and blessed by the attendants of the Council who had finally approved of the plan they were dismissed. Slowly the patio emptied but Naethri was glued to the chair, her eyes cast downwards, her mind lost and empty. A hand was offered to her and looking up she saw Aragorn, the King to be. She took his hand with her usual grace she raised to her feet.

'It must have been a hard morning for you. You should rest' he suggested her leading her away.

She ignored him and they walked along the corridors. 'You fought for Ecthelion II under the name of Thorongil, did you not?'

'The Captain of the White Tower, the man from Gondor, did recognize you after all but he made no protest against you' he replied instead.

'He is the son of the Steward, he witnesses his father's injustice all the time. Hopefully he is ashamed of it.'

'On the contrary I believe he has a strong allegiance to the Steward' he replied casting his eyes to the ground.

'What makes you say so?' Naethri asked.

'He showed great contempt towards the idea of a king returning to his city. Gondor is not waiting for a King.' was his quite reply. He doubted his claim to the throne would be welcomed but it was impossible for Naethri to understand whether he was saddened or relieved by this.

'But you are wrong, my Lord! Gondor looks up to the Captain-General like its greatest champion. All the while the Steward has become a cruel man and his mind is failing. The people of Gondor speak in haste when faced with difficulty. Boromir is in search of a beacon himself, that is the reason is mind is so strongly drawn to the Ring of Power. Gondor grows weak, a weapon so great is the mere illusion of hope. You must prove yourself to him, show him the hope you carry with you' she addressed him with fervour and severity at the same time. She may have been shunned by her kin, but like all the children of Gondor she loved her native land.

Aragorn made no reply, he simply looked at her sadly as he considered that she was indeed young but quick and proud.

'You do not see hope in yourself, do you my Lord? I do though. Soon Boromir will see it too. Maybe one day you will see it as well' Naethri touched is arm briefly and left him to be with his beloved. She saw the daughter of Elrond approach and had noticed on some occasions the look of reverence he cast her way.

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Just so you know Naethri should mean something along the lines of 'Crown of woe', from the Sindarin terms **rî **(crown, wreath, garland) and **naeth** (woe).

I don't really have much knowledge on Sidarin, in fact my character was not even called like this when I first started writing this story. But then I started playing with words, and I liked the idea of creating a name that would mean something and there we have it.


	5. Confrontations

**Author's Note**: I own Nothing save the original character and eventually mentioned peoples of The Beaches, a land of my own invention and is not part of Middle-Earth.

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**Another Author's Note**: I am treading a dangerous path with this Beaches business because to be honest it is not a very well defined land, or to put it in a simpler way I just have the feeling that I may fall in the stereotype of bundling together my knowledge of ancient civilizations and anthropologic cliches and I don't like what is coming out of this. So basically, what I wanted to say is that I don't really want to talk too much about the Beaches for fear of chilces, stereotypes etc. BUT if some people are interested let me know what you think, share your ideas on what they should be like. I'm working on the next chapter because when I first published the story these first five chapters were ready so now I'm going to slow down a little to better elaborate my thoughts.

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The Fellowship was to leave Rivendell within two months. Although Naethri was now officially a guest of the elves she still felt imprisoned in the wondrous alcove they inhabited. The elves were kind and generous, but they were remote and alien in her eyes. She felt a pang of loneliness, surrounded by so many people, among whom she felt no kinship. Naethri walked the halls of Imladris in silence, like a spirit grieving its own death. Her only consolation were the gardens she discovered here and there, where autumn flowers still grew invigorated by the magic of the elves. Most of her time she spent sitting among the blossoms, many of which had stems too thick to braid in a crown, like the sunflowers and the lilies, the irises and the gerberas, so she knotted together the dark bluebells, the delicate paper whites and the wild looking orchids.

One chilly day, in the early afternoon, when the sun shines bright but it does not warm neither air nor earth, she was braiding such a garland when noisy intruders strode in the garden, disturbing Naethri's peace. It was an old hobbit she had seen several times during those months but whose name she did not know, he spoke with a dwarf with an impressively long and bushy white beard, adorned with plaits and stony beads here and there, and they were followed by a younger dwarf with red hair and a luscious beard, the one who had joined the Fellowship during the Council. They spoke merrily of old adventures they shared, between laughs and loud exclamations, but none of them noticed her, for a time. Naethri had decided to mind her own business and she did not move, while the small people strolled light-hearted among the bushes, beneath the trees and the falling leaves. When finally, though accidentally, the small group reached her. She paid no attention to them, whereas they stopped next to her. The dwarves were still quite disinclined towards her but the old hobbit said 'I heard you are going to travel with my boy, Frodo. We have not been introduced yet. My name is Bilbo Baggins, miss, at your service' he bowed lightly and smiled.

'I am-' Naethri began, but she was cut off when the hobbit continued.

'Oh, I know who you are miss. Master Gloin and his son, Gimli, are still quite sore at your 'never enacted' plan to eventually rob them' he had a teasing gleam in his eyes. 'And if there's one thing I've learned is never to steal, or even try to steal, from a dwarf' his smiled lingered but his eyes lost their cheer.

'It is indeed very rude to steal in any case, lass' said the eldest dwarf with severity. 'Though I must concede you did quite a good job back there keeping up with us through the High Pass.'

'If I had done a good job you wouldn't have realized I was there at all' replied Naethri flatly, looking up at the dwarf. 'Though at this point I might as well apologize for my planned yet not attempted robbery, Master dwarf. Still, I feel the need to clarify that I was only planning to take what I needed and no more' she felt no shame, after all she had to take care of herself, and the dwarves where not going to be ruined by the lack of a handful of gold.

'Umph! As if we'd believe that!' exclaimed Gimli with disbelief. 'Listen here, lassie. I'll keep my eyes on you once we leave Rivendell. It's already a mad plan we're going to follow, now we even have to take a woman with us! You better watch your back because if something happens I won't get myself killed to save your sorry ass.'

'Master Gimli, I have been taking care of myself for the past four years, I don't need anyone to save me. But I am sure I'll prove you my worth when the time comes' Naethri responded calmly and impassively, then with a delicate motion of her legs she rose to her feet, towering over the short ones. Her face always composed and sad. She then rested the crown of flowers she'd been braiding on Gimli's head, turned around and left, leaving the dwarf stunned and secretly flattered that she'd gifted him the garland.

The days passed slowly for Naethri and she was often is the company of Gandalf and Aragorn, both interested in her knowledge of the passages that led into Mordor. But in their long inquiries they also tried to consult her about the road to take in their future journey, a question rather irrelevant to her. It would obviously be foolish to take the High Pass for it would lengthen the road for no good reason. Their best bet was to take the Gap of Rohan and from there reach Gondor, it was the fastest and safest way. It wasn't very safe for her, but she had travelled disguised as a man before and maybe she could do it again to pass unnoticed through both Rohan and Gondor, two realms that would not look kindly on her reappearance, and for these reasons she was reluctant in sharing her opinion. Naethri was confused though when the wizard started to talk of the Pass of Caradhras for it was an unnecessarily arduous path through the mountains, but she kept her thoughts to herself, it was not her business, her business was to get them through Mordor and she knew it was pointless to plan that yet.

The Fellowship often gathered but Naethri tenaciously eluded those meetings. To be in a room with them, to hear their discussions and possibly their banters was not her desire, in addition some of them were probably anxious to shower her with questions she didn't want to answer. But she couldn't avoid their company forever. One November evening Legolas, the Prince of Mirkwood and member of the Fellowship, approached her while she was leaning on a bench under a gazebo. There Naethri submitted to the cold air of the fast approaching winter, she'd taken off her doublet and the top of her tunic was open so the cold could striker her hardest, to concentrate on the cold was almost a medium of meditation. 'Naethri' called the elf. 'Gandalf requests your presence.'

She turned to him slowly, stood up fastening the top her tunic and followed him without complaint, though she knew she was to join one of the Fellowship's meetings. When she entered the room behind the elf she was welcomed kindly by most of the participants, save for Gimli who huffed in discomfort and Boromir who glared at her with uncertainty and mistrust. This time it was Gandalf who gestured for her to sit in a chair that had her face the company like a grave suspect. 'I'm sure you are not particularly glad to sit in such a position of.. honour, but the more you avoided our meetings the more some of your companions grew suspicious' explained the wizard.

Naethri crossed the room with her usual dignity and sat, relieved that Aragorn was also sitting next to her and the hobbits were smiling at her from behind a table nearby. Gimli was standing near her chair as well and she noticed he had a dried flower tucked in one of the straps of his tunic. Legolas stood close to Aragorn and Gandalf, while Boromir kept his distance.

'Master Gimli, do you hide treasures in your beard that you still doubt my loyalty?' she said, austere as ever. She was well aware it was not the dwarf who held scruples towards her, having in fact somewhat softened up, but she had to break the ice somehow. The elf was likely sceptical of her, though she was sure that above all others Boromir did not trust her in the least.

And it was in fact Boromir the one who replied with distaste and taking a step towards her. 'Your loyalty is doubted on account of you lies.'

'Surely my lord does not believe me skilled enough to deceive a wizard?' Naethri forced herself calm, to keep the anxiousness at bay.

'A woman like you could trick the devil himself. And if these _fantasies_ of Mordor are in fact true than it will only confirm my opinion' he said with contempt.

'Ehi! What are you implying with that? That is not very nice to say to a lady!' quickly exclaimed one of the hobbits, Mr Brandybuck.

'Should I be polite towards the madwoman who assaulted my father, the Steward, to whom she was supposed to be loyal?' the sarcasm in Boromir's voice was heavy.

'Boromir-' Aragorn started, but was promptly interrupted when Naethri sprang to her feet in her own defence.

'You know very well that is a lie' she said so sternly her voice sounded deeper.

'Is it? Then why do I find it so hard to believe? And what about these tales of yours? These fabled lands beyond the Sea of Rhun? The elaborations of a girl' insisted the Gondorian.

'Men always doubt what they cannot see or comprehend' Naethri retorted with disdain.

'Yet it sounds quite unlikely that in all the long the ages of Middle-Earth no one ever spoke of these people beyond the Empty Lands' added the elf.

'Well now someone has' Naethri recomposed herself briefly while flatly addressing the elf.

'The same goes for your captivity in Mordor' Boromir attacked again, taking another step closer. 'Nobody survives the tortures of the servants of Sauron, let alone unscathed as you are.'

'Oh, so should I strip for you to take a look at my scars, my lord? So you can see with your own eyes the wounds that were inflicted on me, the lesions they left on my body when they tormented me?' her voice started to raise in her anger and finally he flinched, in his eyes the nature of his anger changed. But this was not enough to satisfy her now.

'We are to partake in a long and perilous journey very soon' Aragorn tried to restore the peace 'We must put differences aside and trust in one another. We are companions, we are to take care of each other, if we argue so from the start how are we fulfil our task?'

Boromir closed the distance between him, Aragorn and Naethri. 'Trust a criminal and a traitor?' he questioned, but he was rewarded with a hard slap that Naethri landed across his face.

'How dare you accuse me so, my lord?' at first her voice was quite, but it rose slowly as the anger rose within her, as she breathed hard. 'You who stood there? You stood as they dragged me towards the White Tower when you knew – you knew the unjust accusations they alleged towards me. You knew what I did was right. My so called _crime_ was a treason, yes, but towards the folly of your father. And still you did nothing! You and Faramir abandoned me while they threw me through the Court and they ripped my gown and pulled my hair and led me with a choir of insults, barefooted and humiliated, out of Minas Tirith.' She silenced when she had no more breath within her and she felt tears floating in her eyes, so she did not see the hurt and the shame in the eyes of the man in front of her.

Naethri closed her eyes so the tears would not escape and when she had regained enough composure she took a step backwards and sat down staring at her knees. No one uttered a word for a long while but the heavy silence was finally interrupted by Gandalf, who had watched the heated argument thoughtfully.

'Now, now' he began with grimly, 'let us leave these misunderstandings in the past for the time being. Aragorn is right, we are to be companions for an indefinite time and we face many trials, we must put disagreements aside so as not to hinder the task of our Fellowship. There now. Boromir, you said you travelled through the Gap of Rohan on your way to Rivendell, what news from Edoras?'

Boromir still held his fingers to his face, where Naethri had struck him, and was glad to turn his mind from the guilt troubling him. 'Sad news I'm afraid. King Théoden is not the man he once was. Within a short time he seems to have aged immensely. He is weakened, it is hard for him even to sustain a simple conversation. Théodred and Éomer are tenacious in the defence of Rohan but I fear that with the weakening of the king the strength of the Éored will diminish as well.'

'Spies of Sauron must be at work in Rohan. The evil from Mordor spreads fast and relentless' stated Legolas with earnest.

Naethri paid little attention to the rest of the conversation, especially when it was the turn of the dwarf and the elf to engage in an argument. On their part the hobbits looked very bored. She could not help but to look at them as children, not only because of their short height but also because of their light-heartedness. The Shire was far from the wickedness of Mordor. Unconsciously she brought a hand against her womb, the same hand she struck Boromir with. The more her companions spoke of Rohan the more she thought back to her most recent stay in Rohan, Edoras being the last city of men she had inhabited. She thought of the blond siblings she had befriended and the darkness that that had started to spread on Meduseld and the golden hill on which it stood.

Hours later, when none of their doubts had been resolved and the stars glittered indifferently in the sky, the company parted. Boromir was troubled most of all. The Wizard and the Ranger, the heir of Isildur, kept opposing his suggestion of travelling through the Gap of Rohan, in his opinion the fastest and safest way to Gondor, where they could seek his father's assistance. Another idea Gandalf seemed to dismiss firmly, with Aragorn's silent though evident support.

He was sure their partiality towards his father was instilled in them by the words that woman spoke. He couldn't help his anger at her, she'd even had the insolence to strike him in front of everyone. Because of that he felt ashamed. Boromir felt ashamed not so much because he let a woman publicly strike him but because regretfully he had to admit to himself he deserved it, a little. What she had said when she hit him was somewhat true. She had freed innocents and saved them from a terrible and dishonourable death and was punished harshly for it. He did nothing to stop it even though he agreed with her, confident that the Council of the Steward was going to be sympathetic towards the young woman after all. He was assured his father himself had dismissed the lords of the Council when they refused her any kindness, he had been compassionate and considered with her and was repaid with her violence.

For a long time Boromir contemplated what happened to the little girl that used to follow him and his brother around the Citadel and considered the woman she had grown into. Naethri had been a wild child but she was never mean. Faramir and himself were young men at the time she used to get in trouble with the nurses for cutting her hair short and dressing as a boy, insisting she wanted to take lessons in swordsmanship. And a useful little brat she was whenever they decided to torment the guards of the higher levels of Minas Tirith, nobody in fact had the heart to scold nor punish the little girl on whom they unloaded most of their blame. And she went always unnoticed in the kitchens, so little she was, but she came back to them always laden with buns or fruits or cakes. The two of them had to resort to bribing her when they realized how useful she could be with the ladies of the Court. Once they'd convince her to wear a proper dress no one ever questioned her nor suspected anything when she delivered letters to their lovers. It was Faramir that first suggested they should stop talking of their conquests in front of her, that she was growing fast and she was to be a graceful lady herself sometime soon, though mostly he said so to tease her and laughed heatedly at her offended expression.

While lost in these memories Boromir had been roaming at first the moonlit gardens, then the corridors of Rivendell, finally he resolved to find some food before withdrawing to his rooms. And in the kitchens he found the object of his reminiscences. Naethri was sitting on a stool near a bowl full of ripe figs and she had split one, raising a half to her mouth parted voluptuously, the pulp of the fruit as pink as her lips. He stood at the entrance in surprise and, influenced by his memories and the events that had occurred only a few hours before, he could not help but admire how much that devilish child had grown, like a wild weed from which a flower perhaps just as wild had blossomed. The alteration of her hair had unsettled him when he first saw her at the Council, now that he stood unseen in the shadows and free to look at her to his content he decided that although the coppery shade softened her features, he liked her best with the dark locks that stood out like spilled ink when splayed on the white bedsheets –

'My lord!'

Boromir was dragged back to reality when Naethri exclaimed, acknowledging his presence. She was standing now, curtsied lightly and turned to leave through a door opposite the archway he had entered from.

'Wait' he said instinctively. And in a few fast steps he reached her.

She did not turn around, she merely shifted her head enough to make him understand he had her attention, but she kept her gaze to the ground on her side.

'Naethri..' he whispered her name again after so many years his heart clenched in remorse. 'Forgive my harsh words.' he said softly. The force that had been drawing him towards that woman for all those years remained a mystery to him. When she did not reply he insisted. 'I thought I'd never see you again.'

When his hand moved to touch her arm she took another step towards the door and away from him cutting him short. 'Goodnight, my lord'.

And she left. Naethri felt confused and angered. She was angry with herself for losing her temper at the meeting. What was more, his arrogance that evening had wounded her and now he dared approach her in the dead of night, whispering her name like if he hadn't wronged her, when his indolence in her time of need had been his greatest crime.

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I had this chapter ready since yesterday because I'm writing with the speed of a self-infliction exorcist in the attept to purge my soul. And I have to add, this is my favourite chapter so far because I had only a veeeery vague idea of what was to happen in it and then it flew so swiftly from the chaos of my brain to the orderliness of the digits! Plus it contains my favourite thing in the world: angst. Uahaha


	6. Eggs and storms

**Author's Note**: I own Nothing save the original character and the land and peoples of The Beaches, which I created. Everything else belongs to Tolkien. Only Naethri and the Beaches are the spawns of my imagination.

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**Another Author's Note**: I suppose it' s evident I'm not fond of dialogues, isn't it? Anyway, I'm sorry the chapter is longer than usual but if I couldn't split it and I also want to deal with Moria in a chapter of its own. Also I'm still very afraid of writing stuff about the Beaches because in my mid it's all cool and advanced and pacific among them but I fear the stereotype so if anyone has suggestions or critics fire away, though I plan to keep vague about them if people are interested I may consider expanding, so reviews would be helpful and appreciated.

Ah, one more thing, I'm planning to make this a little more sexually explicit the further I go with this story, I thought you guys should know. I've never wrote anything too explicit to be honest and I would like to keep it tasteful, but I can't promise anything..things take form in my brain and sometimes I can't filter everything..

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The air was sharp the morning the ten companions received the blessing of the elves and followed the Ring-Bearer out the gates of Imladris. Waiting not a moment Naethri walked behind Gandalf and Frodo, eager to be once again on the move, whereas Aragorn was the last to leave Rivendell behind, lingering with heartache at the sight of his beloved. They trekked on foot, the only steed that accompanied them was Bill, who carried their supplies. The journey was slow, just as slow as it had been when Neathri was stalking the dwarves; the hobbits were not accustomed to long journeys and they could not cover the same amount of distance a grown man could, with their short legs and naked hairy feet, they tired easily so they often stopped to rest. Hopefully their bodies would adapt to withstand the hardships soon enough.

Since the very first days together the duties and positions within the Fellowship were almost automatically divided without the need of verbal consultations among them. Gandalf would lead them, closely followed by Legolas, whose keen eyes were ever watchful of their surroundings in the event a threat of any kind approached them. He was followed by Gimli, who felt a strong rivalry towards the elf, and the hobbits, who tended to stick together most of the time: Merry and Pippin like fork and spoon, and Sam shadowing Frodo as his self-appointed protector, gardener and friend, all the while leading Bill along. Behind them were Naethri, Boromir and Aragorn, guarding the Fellowship from the rear. When they stopped Aragorn or Naethri would lit a fire where Sam could cook their meals, whilst the other hobbits would take the equipment they required. Legolas and Gandalf would keep watch of their camp while the others would hunt or gather the food when possible, otherwise they'd avail themselves of the provisions they carried with them, though they were prudent in their consumption because harder times were to come when it would be harder if not impossible to find any food at all. When Aragorn and Boromir would hunt, Naethri would gather other edibles that did not require the use of the bow, having never fully mastered the art of archery.

By the end of December the weather was still remarkably fine and clear but to the hobbits' dismay they took always longer to find a place where to camp at sundown, they were far from the Bruinen and any of its tributary rivers and it was getting harder to spot even the most meagre of creeks. Not only the water was scarce, even game was hard to hunt: deer were shy animals and tended to keep themselves close to the shelter that trees and bushes would provide, and trees and bushes became sparser the closer they got to the western flanks of the Misty Mountains. Hares could be spotted with more ease but it took several hares to feed the numerous party, so the hunters had to get further and further from their camp of choice and took longer to come back. Naethri would scour the lands around them to gather in her pouch wild roots, berries and mushrooms.

One late afternoon she'd been particularly lucky in her search since they camped earlier than usual so she had had more time available and it was not too dark yet, allowing her to see the surroundings better. The productivity of her gathering was distracted when she spotted colourful spots of flowers, still open to absorb the last rays the sun would gift them that day. When she returned to the camp the hunters were already back with only two lanky hares and a pheasant, by then skinned and plucked. Gimli addressed her with vexation 'You leave for all this time and you come back with a bunch o' flowers?'

In one hand she did carry a posy of wild flowers, the other held a few small branches of fragrant rosemary and asparaguses to her nose which she handed to Sam, together with her pouch filled with wild mushrooms, several roots, crimson berries and a good deal of mussels she had found by the stream. All the while she glared back at the doubtful dwarf and slowly her mouth broke into a small mocking smile, so gratified was she by her discovery. Naethri had in fact tied her scarf around her stomach and kneeling near the hobbit she slowly and carefully untied the scarf from around her, when she uncovered the content she revealed a lot of small grey feathers and fresh moss that made a soft bed on which a good number of eggs of reasonable size were laid. Handing them to Sam she explained that the greyish ones spotted in brown where magpie eggs, the brown ones were pheasant. The group at first looked at those eggs as if they were made of gold but soon they protested against the magpie's eggs.

'You can't eat magpie's eggs!' Pippin was the first to compliant.

'They will fill your bellies for tonight though' intervened Aragorn, 'you should be glad Naethri was able to spot a nest.'

'They probably taste horrible' added Gimli, scoffing.

'They are no different from crow's eggs' said Naethri with indifference. 'And they still taste better then gull's eggs.'

'Gull's eggs? Where ever did you see a gull in the first place?' asked Merry.

'They are seabirds, Master hobbit,' answered Legolas, 'they can be found in Lindon, or where the big rivers of Middle-Earth run into Belegaer, the Great Sea.'

'But Naethri has never been west' said Gandalf with mirth, 'You saw them in the east, didn't you?'

Sam had begun cooking a stew with Naethri's forage (though to her disappointment he didn't know quite what to do with the mullets) and the hares and had decided that it would be wiser to cook the eggs in the morning, so he wrapped them back in the scarf. Naethri took her bunch of flowers, neatly settled on some blankets and concentrated on her usual occupation, twisting the flowers together, then she answered the wizard's question.

'Yes, though gulls are the most hideous among the seabirds that fly above the Beaches' the beady eyes of the gulls were particularly irksome in Naethri's opinion.

'What are those beaches like, Naethri?' asked Frodo quietly.

She looked up from her hands and her amusement was chased away by her melancholy nature as she considered with nostalgia the peaceful land she had left.

'They are very different from the rest of Middle-Earth, Frodo. The forests are wild and generous, full of juicy fruits and wide shiny leaves, the animals more colourful though many just as dangerous as the ones that roam our lands. But most of all the people are different.'

'Different in looks or customs?' Legolas seemed very interested now.

Naethri looked at the rock on which he squatted. 'Both' she replied. 'Their society is held by a matriarchy, and their ways are more open and less strict and formal then ours. Maybe it's because the sun shines brighter there, the weather is warmer and so are their hearts. The sun shines so bright it turned their skin into gold and bronze' a smile crept back on her lips as she remembered the smooth skin of her paramour, the soft mouth the colour of burned sugar.

'They must be a peaceful people, if they are governed by women' continued the elf. 'The men are considered inferior, I presume.'

'Men and women are equal among them as they should be everywhere' Naethri replied firmly. 'Every man, woman and child is valued among the people of the Beaches, but they respect women deeply since they are the bearers of life. Pregnant women are the most revered of all and children are raised communally. They are peaceful because they care to maintain the living environment safe and free of calamity. They do have armies and they are fierce enough to keep the Easterlings away, and their ranks are formed by both men and women.'

'The presence of these pacific community in the east is still very odd' commented Gandalf as he lit his pipe. In the dusk it twinkled together with the small fire. When the stew was ready Sam took Frodo's bowl and filled it, one after the other the members of the Fellowship offered him their bowl and were returned it filled and steaming.

'According to their legends they sailed from a land beyond the sea, but they are not accustomed to keeping records of their history therefore only recently they started investing in projects of exploration and many brave warriors and adventurers set sail to find out what is at the end of the waters' she explained.

'Most interesting, indeed' mused Gandalf as he sipped the stew.

After they cleared the bowls and pots the fire was put out and Neathri considered it was dark enough to go back to the stream nearby. Gimli sat to take the first watch while the others laid down to rest. She followed the stream until she reached bushes thick enough to hide her from prying eyes, behind them she unbuckled her belt and unlaced her breeches so she could remove the soaked cloth from between her thighs and replace it with a clean one from her pack. She crouched next to the water and she washed the bloodied cloth together with the others she kept hidden in a pocket of her pack, covered in dried herbs and flowers to hide the smell of the stale blood of her cycle. She had gotten used to this unpleasant routine by now since not always she had the certainty she'd find running water in the wild so she made sure she had enough cloths before she left Rivendell and whenever her cycle approached she collected the most odorous of flowers to dry so as hide the stench of blood.

The following morning, after they feasted on the eggs Naethri had found, she found the crown of flowers she had tangled and neglected during the night so she encircled her head with the pink camellias and cloudy clematises. Once they had passed the ridge of Hollin it was decided they would take a break in that region so they kept on, in search of a suitable area where to rest, glad they had been wise enough to fill their gourds with water before they left since the landscape before them consisted mainly in rocky hills and they would not find water for a time.

The past weeks they travelled incessantly on their way south and all the while Gandalf, Aragorn and Boromir seemed to have come to an agreement on the route to take, that is through the Gap of Rohan, the only one opposing this project being Gimli, who insisted they should cut through the mines of Moria where his cousin dwelled. He maintained his position and attempted to persuade the wizard even once they finally found a suitable spot to lay off, among a cluster of rocks and bushes on a hilltop. They hadn't procured themselves any food since they were not planning to eat at first but Sam insisted Frodo had to have a meal, to help him gather his strengths, so he cooked sausages and lard while Gandalf and Gimli bickered and Legolas stood watchful on the tip of a pointed rock.

Naethri was standing not far from Frodo, and she pensively watched over him. The hobbit seemed to be resilient against the dark forces of the golden ring dangling from his neck, forces she had begun to hear in her dreamless sleep, voices that whispered in words she did not know the meaning of but in her heart she understood all the same, words of fire and pain and darkness. But Frodo was also sitting on a rock swaying his big feet on the edge and was laughing of his two friends, thus slowly Naethri directed her attention to the other two hobbits. Merry and Pippin had managed to convince Boromir to teach them how to wield a sword, though what was a sword for them was actually a knife, a dagger at most, for a grown man. Where the ground was flat and there were less rocks they were cheerfully sparring with the gondorian who slowly taught them all the steps while Aragorn sat on the side smoking his pipe and advising or correcting them.

Boromir hadn't spoken to her since their conflict in Rivendell but Naethri could not tell if he also avoided her eyes on purpose or if she imagined it because his indifference bothered her. She looked at him as he repeated the same manoeuvres over and over until the hobbits understood them and she recalled what a rascal she was when she was only a girl, how long she had tormented her father until he allowed her to learn to use a sword and how often either Boromir of Faramir would find her on the training grounds and challenged her to show them what she had learned. She cherished the benevolent laughs of the young captains as they instructed her. Like older brothers they both would always indulge her every whim. When they led their troops back into the city after campaigns in the lands of Gondor she would run from any point of Minas Tirith through the streets until she reached them in the lower levels and one of them would lift her small body in front of them on his massive horse. When she was a child she ran to them in the excitement of the parade looking like a stable boy, as she grew into a woman she would still run to them rustling her heavy skirts around her feet, full of questions on their campaigns, and still they took her and carried her on their horses, so the people would admire not only the sons of the Steward but also the Lady of Osgiliath –

She woke from her daydream at the sound of clattering metal and loud laughs: Merry and Pippin had overcome Boromir and tackled him to the ground. When Aragorn came to his aid he was knocked off his feet before he could do anything and Naethri herself could not help but smile with tenderness at the sight of the two tall men, who protected and provided for the fellowship, brought down by the sneaky hobbits. Her hand rose unconsciously to her womb and she contemplated their mess fondly. But a shadow in the distance caught her eye, for a strange dark cloud had appeared from the south. The rest of the company noticed the strange haze themselves and it grew darker and bigger too fast for a cloud moving against the wind. When Legolas realized those were Crebain they hastily gathered their belonging and ducked beneath the hollows of the rocks surrounding them, so they would be hidden from the spies Saruman had sent from Dunland. Once they had passed they felt no longer safe, all the merriment had been dispelled and when they settled for the night they didn't dare light a fire. That night Naethri felt shadows reach out to caress the air around her, so close they could have snatched her in her sleep. It could have been a dream, but she had lost her dreams in Mordor and never dreamt since. The haunted eyes of her comrades only proved to her that she was not the only one to have felt the darkness trying to crush them in the night.

Their gloomy night convinced Gandalf that to advance towards the Gap of Rohan was too dangerous, the Crebian were spies coming from Isengard, sent by Saruman, so he led the Fellowship towards the mountains, following Aragorn's suggestion of climbing the peak of Caradhras, through the Redhorn Gate. The mountain was famous among the dwarves as the Cruel, ever covered in snow and dangerous to cut across because of its sheer sides and savage storms. As they passed over the rising hills to the east Naethri walked at the back of the company as usual, next to Aragorn and followed by Boromir. While they advanced Aragorn, usually as reticent as she was, addressed her.

'Did you know any of the people that sailed east?' was his sudden question.

'Why do you ask?'

'It must be a great and exiting feat to embark towards unknown lands, though it must be a bitter parting for those who stay behind. They may travel for long years and maybe never meet again with their loved ones' he never looked at her while he revealed his considerations.

Naethri turned towards him for a long time in silence for she was sure his words stemmed from thoughts of his dearest one, then answered him. 'My paramour sailed east' it was Aragorn who now turned to look at her in surprise, but before he could say anything she continued 'We parted in mutual agreement when we both realized our desire to move on. We were dear lovers, but our affections were not deep enough for the separation to truly wound us.'

The moment she finished her sentence she realized what grave mistake she had made: Boromir was walking behind them close enough to hear everything. She felt comfortable to share some of her past with Aragorn, not with Boromir. She did not dare turn and see his reaction to those disclosures and after a few moments she saw him walk past her, striding eagerly towards the front of the company and close to the hobbits. Relentlessly they marched on and soon the view began to change, the hills were now covered in snow and when the hills turned into mounts the snow became deeper. Everything was white and grey and blue and there was no sign of vegetation anywhere, snow covering everything, reflecting the sun and glittering delicately as far the eye could see. It was soft and light so it didn't hinder them at first but soon, as their feet sank deeper, it became slippery and more strenuous with each step, especially for the ones behind who walked on the treaded snow. The hobbits were the ones who suffered most, further hampered by the nakedness of their feet.

And sure enough Frodo slipped and rolled backwards on the snow, rolling downhill too fast for anyone to catch him in time until he reached Naethri and Aragorn, who stopped his descent and helped him to his feet, scrolling the ice off his clothes. As Frodo caught his breath and his head recovered from the dizziness his first instinct was to reach for his neck, where he felt different, empty. The chain on which the Ring hanged had slipped off his neck in his tumble and he was overcome by panic, which infected the two next to him and they all started to search the snow in desperation while the rest of the company, who were too far to have seen anything, looked at them puzzled. It was not until Boromir noticed a brighter shimmering among the snow that everyone realized what had happened. Boromir took a few steps downhill and slowly reached to the ground with his hand, scooping up the chain with the Ring, raising it to his eyes. He stood there motionless for a time, staring at the small object until Aragorn called him, so he might give the Ring back to Frodo. But it was clear to see how the ring was calling him, its dark power was almost palpable to all, and in those moments aimed to him alone, entrancing him. And he wondered

'Strange fate, that we should suffer so much fear and doubt over such little thing..' his gloved fingers were so close to the golden circle.

'Boromir' called Aragorn again, sternly. 'Give the Ring back to Frodo.'

The spell broke but Boromir was left breathless and soon overcome by many differing emotions.

'As you wish, I care not' he said with feigned indifference, and walked to Frodo, handing him the Ring and fatherly touching his head. Frodo on his part slid the chain back around his neck as if he had been holding his breath under water and only now finally emerged to breathe again. Naethri's gazed at length at the small hobbit, for she could see how the Ring had begun to affect his mind, though not with the same strength nor speed with which it subdued men. Her eyes moved to Boromir's back who quickly distanced himself from them, and only then did she realize how tense Aragorn was, his hand still holding firmly the hilt of his sword. Her fears increased and she felt the strong need to protect the small creature from the violent nature of men.

The company soon understood that their climbing through the Redhorn Pass was going to be an extreme task. The further up the mountain they advanced the higher the snow, then the wind began to blow, chilling then all to the bone, and the sky grew darker. Boromir and Aragorn tried their best to shovel the snow out of the way to make the path easier for the hobbits, who sank down to their chest, even for Gimli it was difficult to walk through the cold white wall, though he would never admit it. But the mountain felt challenged by the travellers and unleashed its offence against them in the form of a violent blizzard, the snow so thick they could barely see. The two men had abandoned their attempts at shoving the snow out of their way and they moved forward carrying one hobbit on each side with snow up to their waits. Gandalf led the way and Naethri closed their ranks holding Bill's reins, she was exhausted by the hardship and by the cold, though she wrapped herself with her scarf and a blanked, and walked on with her head lowered against the wind and eyes almost closed barely aware of anything save for the cold. Legolas walked along the ridge above the snow, the elf being almost weightless didn't sink like the rest of them, and he surveyed ahead as best he could for even his perceptive eyes struggled to see through such a storm.

In the darkness a deep voice was carried by the wind, Caradhras had been enraged by the spells of the enemy. Gandalf knew whose was the voice that stirred the tempest, he had already confronted Saruman the White, now a servant of Sauron, so he stood tall and chanted a spell to quieten the winds and pacify the mountain. Though his voice was strong in the raging snow, in the span of a second a lighting flashed against the rocks above and a large mass of snow dislodged itself falling atop them. One after the other the walkers dug their way out of the snow that had crashed them, gasping to breathe freely, but Naethri could not be seen. Boromir was the one who screamed her name, ploughing the snow with his hands and found her almost immediately, cold and a little stunned. He held he by the arms since she looked week and her eyes were foggy, then he turned to Gandlaf urging him to abandon the mountain and the folly of their endeavour and to take the Gap of Rohan instead. Aragorn and Gandalf disagreed, the Gap would lead them too close to Isengard and Saruman, therefore Gimli insisted once more that the safest path would be the one beneath the mountains, through the mines of Moria. But Gandalf hesitated and finally let the decision to Frodo, who chose the mines, and thus they turned around and made their way off the mountain.

They were in no way safer once they had decided to abandon the cliff because the storm raged just as fiercely. Fortune was kind upon them when Gimli noticed a recess in the wall of the mountain that turned out to be a small cavern, so they pushed themselves within the grotto and huddled close for heath, fully aware they would not be able to sleep or they would drift to their death in the frozen temperature. When Naethri saw Frodo too close to Boromir she reached for him and held the hobbit to her chest to keep warm and safe. But hobbits are small, and not a good source of heath, Naethri was dozing off slowly and her lips were turning blue so Frodo escaped her grasp and piled with the other hobbits between Gandalf and Gimli. Aragorn and Boromir reached for Neathri and held her between the two of them, shaking her often and calling her name. It was hours until the storm calmed enough for them to resume their descent.


	7. The door to darkness

**Author's Note**: I own Nothing save the original characters, that is Naethri and her family.

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**Another Author's Note**: it has been pointed out that the story may be easier to follow if the chapters were titles. Because I suck at titles do any want to share sugetions? Otherwise I may resort to the rather lame option of naming them according to the location of the company, which may be a issue further on when I will not necessarily be following them every step of the way..

I've read this chapter several times but there may be some typos here and there, you are welcome to point it out if you notice them. This chapter and the next are heavily based on the movie because I already feel like I am violationg Tolkien canon so I thought I might as well stick to the movie because I've read the book years ago now and may memory may not be that reliable, though I am doing my best to research and make sure I'm not talkig shit here. And another reason I'm sticking so much to the movie is because Moria is such a closed environment and it cripples my imagination a little, I feel trapped myself, I don't know how to explain it..I can't wait to be out of there mines..aaaah!

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The storm stirred the mountain incessantly though with less strength when the Fellowship began their descent. Naethri had spent hours squashed between the two men, her back against Aragorn's shoulder who nudged her with his elbow to keep her awake while Boromir covered her legs with his cloak. At some point the cold had stopped bothering her, it became part of her, it stiffened her and drained her energies, she was just weary. Aragorn rose to his feet to check the conditions outside the cave, then turned to his companions to urge them to leave the cliffs of Caradhras now that the wind had begun to quieten, before the blizzard increased in power again.

'Is the woman still breathing?' Legolas asked Boromir as he stood helping Gandalf.

'The girl couldn't handle a bit of frost and now she's dying on us!' was Gimli's first comment.

The words of the dwarf reached Naethri muffled and, though her mind was still faint, they vexed her. As she roused from the state between sleep and wake she had fallen into due to the warmth around her she felt a hand on her shoulder, the warmth of its palm on her neck as it travelled to her face. She reflexively leaned into that palm at first refusing to open her eyes, a gesture so familiar, as she had done many times before –

Her eyes shot open and with her hands she pushed against Boromir's chest who had held her in his arms when Aragorn left her side, to keep her warm. He was looking at her with concern but he let her go when she pushed herself free from him.

'We must hurry!' said Gandalf while exiting the cave and sinking in the deep snow that covered the path down the mountain.

Naethri rose still a little confused and without looking at any of them she followed the wizard. Once more Aragorn lifted Sam and Frodo in his arms and made his way outside, behind him was Boromir who carried Merry and Pippin, Gimli at his heels and Legolas came last walking above the snow. Their descent was ever so slow and by the time they were finally at the foot of the mountain the weather was grim and they proceeded through a thick fog, following the Misty Mountains south in search of the gates of Moria. They journeyed the whole day along the rocky route that coasted the foot of the mounts, the general mood was heavy and sour, their morale had been crushed by the defeat against the Pass of Caradhras but a cloud thicker than the fog that surrounded them seemed to drag them down. Gandalf led the way as always and Naethri followed close behind him, weary of any company since her display of weakness on the mountain. When Gandalf called for Frodo to help him and support him Naethri felt more clearly the cloud dense yet invisible around her. She could hear the two in front of her talk and paid them no heed, though her attention was caught at their mention of the Ring. Gandalf spoke of how its power was increasing, its evil almost palpable and it called evil towards it from outside the Fellowship, but also from within. The cloud they all felt but could not see was the darkness seeping from the Ring.

'Who then do I trust?' Frodo came to a halt and looked at Gandalf in search of advice, while the rest of them slowly surpassed the two. Naethri passed them as well or it would have been quite blatant that she had eavesdropped, so now she walked behind Boromir, conscious that it was him Gandalf worried about the most. His display on their way up the Redhorn Gate was truthfully understandable, every one of them felt the call of the Ring. Naethri felt it as well, it called her to a brutal revenge, it offered her the means to indulge in a bloodbath that would cleanse all the woe that befell her in the years. She was torn between vengeance and justice but despite the struggle within her she knew she was repulsed by the Ring, in a way it was a visible proof of the evil that was born form Mordor. But Boromir did not seek the Ring for entirely selfish reasons. It promised him the power to guide his people against the evil that threated to destroy their homeland, if he could harness such force he could lead Gondor to victory over the armies of the Evil Eye. The responsibilities he felt towards his people blinded him, he could not understand that the Ring had a will of its own and would not be controlled by any man, only enslave their minds and turn their hearts to darkness. Naethri was afraid of the effect the Ring had over Boromir, so despite her initial unwillingness to get close to him again, for fear of her own memories, she imposed herself to keep an eye on him.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Gimli gasped in surprise.

'The walls of Moria' he announced as they all scrambled on the rocks reaching a wide dark lake and across such lake the wall of the mountain stood erect and sheer. By the time they had reached the lake the night had fallen silently and although they had left the fog behind them during their track, the sky was still obscured by ominous clouds. Once they had coasted the lake and reached the wall of the mountain Gandalf and Gimli traced the rock with their hands searching for the doors of the Mines, for dwarves hide their homes well, so well in fact their entrance may be lost forever if the secret of their location is forgotten, which only proved the dwarves' mediocrity to Legolas. Gandalf announced that the door was strewn with ithildin therefore it was visible only when it reflected the light of the stars or the moon, so they waited until the scattered clouds unveiled the pale moon and they were revealed the majestic Doors of Durin, crafted by both elves and dwarves, decorated with the emblems of Durin and a tree at each side. Above those symbols Gandalf read and inscription:

'_Ennyn Durin Aran Moria. Pedo Mellon a Minno._'

'The Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter.'

A password was required and try as he may Gandalf could not find an answer to that riddle, his frustration at his own failures became most evident when he vented against Pippin since the poor curious fellow assailed him with questions on the door. So he sat on a rock in front of the shining doors muttering to himself the possible solutions, dismissing one after the other, Frodo sitting close by him and looking rather tense, fearful because of the unsettling words he had shared with the wizard or of the ghoulish surroundings. The lake was filled with water that resembled a dark and slimy oil, on its surface the moon was eerily reflected by the stagnant water. Aragorn and Sam unbridled Bill, sending him free on his way back home, the little provisions they had left and he carried were to be distributed among the Fellowship and carried individually, since the brave pony could not follow them through the underground labyrinths of the mines.

Legolas stood idly near the entrance, Merry and Pippin chatted gaily by the shore of the lake and were watched over by Naethri, Gimli and Boromir sitting beneath a dead tree, the dwarf smoking his pipe, the other two lost in thoughts and memories. The greasy waters of the lake remembered Naethri of the shade of the waters of the Anduin where it cut through Osgiliath. She had visited the haunted city in rare occasions her father allowed her to follow him during his administrative visits to the old capital, which had been under his responsibility since before she was born and probably still was. It was in the Citadel of the Stars that she was born, back in the time it was still inhabited by the few brave men that resisted the evil of Mordor, that had been aiming to conquer and destroy the city for over an Age. The stars had slowly faded above its Dome and her mother drew her last breath after the bloody affair that was Naethri's birth, the woman had lived her youth in the radiant harbour of Pelargir and had too soon withered and died close to the Mountains of Shadow. Lost in grief Gonnfaer, Lord of Osgiliath, abandoned the city to the guards to protect and took his daughter to the safety of the capital.

The putrid lake reminded Boromir as well of how polluted the clear waters of the Anduin would look when crossing Osgiliath. Since he was a boy he had admired the persistence with which Lord Gonnfaer defended the western part of the city against the attacks from the orcs and he was highly disappointed when the Lord abandoned the city he was entrusted with by his father the Steward, he considered it a betrayal and a defeat at the time. It was as a reward for Gonnfaer's determination that Denethor granted him lordship over that city, whose princees were slain centuries before and had been since then under the guardianship of the old Captain. Only years later, when he was often stationed with the garrison that defended the crossing of the river through the city, only then did Boromir realise that Lord Gonnfaer was left with no other choice but to flee from Osgiliath. The population of the city was deficient when its lord resided there and after his departure Osgiliath was quickly deserted. The eastern side had been destroyed over the years and the western part was falling to ruin. Along the years and until the months before he left for Rivendell, the defence of the city had been relentless and lavishly financed by Lord Gonnfaer himself, by the time Boromir became Captain-General he was the one who led the army of Gondor with passion, resisting the fury of the orcs, but their strength was not enough to endure the conflicts forever neither to fully reconquer the old capital.

Splashes in the water disturbed the nocturnal peace when Merry and Pippin engaged in a challenge on who could throw rocks further into the lake. With haste Aragorn reached them and put an end to their diversion, something slept beneath the surface of the lake, it was not wise to awaken the unknown. Indeed Boromir as well waked to the edge of the water, were the ripples the rocks caused seemed to last longer than they naturally should, it weren't the rocks in fact that were producing the continuous ripples, something was moving under the dark waters. It was then that Frodo suddenly asked Gandalf

'What's the elvish word for 'friend'?'

'Mellon' replied the wizard and was pleasantly surprised when the doors of the mountain opened at the sound of that single word.

The Fellowship was relieved to leave the creepy shores of the lake and quickly entered the dark halls of the mines, Gimli boasted the lavishness of the hospitality his cousin Balin, Lord of Moria, would bestow upon them. Gandalf whispered a spell to a rock he placed on top of his walking stick and the stone shone bright allowing them to see what was ahead of them.

'And they call it a mine! A mine!' Gimli was still scoffing at how ridiculous the description sounded, unlike the others he hadn't seen the true horror that lay before them.

'This is no mine. It's a tomb' breathed Boromir, voicing everyone's shock.

The floor was littered with corpses mummifying in the stale air of the mine, sealed up to a few moments before. The bodies scattered all over were turning brown, the skin sticking to the bones, pierced by several arrows, cobwebs had begun to shroud everything. Gimli could not contain his dismay and ran among the corpses screaming in anguish, Legolas not less horrified took an arrow from one of the corpses and inspecting it declared it was of Goblin craft. They all unsheathed their swords, Legolas bent his bow and Gimli held his axe high in rage, though they slowly retreated backwards towards the entrance. It was folly to advance through the mines. But while the warriors had shielded the hobbits from the dark inners of the mine they were not aware that another menace was waiting for them outside. Out of the disturbed waters of the lake a sinuous tentacle reached out with force and took hold of Frodo's ankle. At his scream everyone rushed outside in his aid but countless green tentacles emerged from the lake striking at them whilst Frodo was dragged away towards the mysterious monster. Aragorn, Boromir and Naethri vented themselves towards the luminous tentacles, their swords slicing the slimy limbs of the monster, often hard enough to sever them. Legolas shot arrows relentlessly and the three humans delved into the waters so as to reach Frodo and drag him away. The beast was enraged and confused by the arrows and the loss of several of its limbs and dangled Frodo precariously in the air so Aragorn attacked that very tentacle in the hope it would lose its grip on the hobbit and his efforts were rewarded when Frodo was in fact released and went crushing down towards the waters but was caught by Boromir. With the Ring-Bearer in his arms he dashed towards the mines, at the doors of which waited the rest of the Fellowship fending themselves against the tentacles lunging towards them.

Once Frodo had been released they all ran into the mines to escape the clutches of the beast who thrust towards them even once they stepped through the doors but its efforts caused the walls around the entrance of Moria to crumble on the desperate tentacles, partly crushing on the monster and locking the Fellowship inside the mines. They had no other choice now but to make their way through the dark labyrinth beneath the mountain, where horrors greater than orcs and goblins hid in the depth of the earth, it would be days before they reached the light again. By the flickering light of Gandalf's magic stone they advanced within the earth and, though obscure, it was an impressive sight the one before them since the mountain was almost hollow within, so much had the dwarves dug. They crossed countless bridges, some carved into the rocks, others built in wood, and as they walked Gandalf told them of how the richness of these mines was in a metal of unimaginable worth, mithril, stronger then steel yet much lighter and the material shone through the rocks at their passage, illuminated by Gandalf's light.

The time they spent in the deep dark mines seemed never to end, they walked along the bridges, up steep stairs and on the side of the mountain, careful not to take a false step lest they would fall into the abyss that gave Moria its name. After they went up several flights of stairs, with steps too high for the small hobbits who literally had to climb them, they reached a antechamber with three doors. One after the other they all stopped behind Gandalf, waiting for him to show the way, but he lingered looking around mildly distressed: he did not recall this place at all, he did not know which of the three dark doors to enter. In frustration they sat once again, waiting for the wizard to remember the way. The hobbits lay in a circle smoking their pipes and lamenting their hunger, save for Frodo who was talking to Gandalf. The two men set on a step behind the hobbits, peering in the darkness they had passed, Legolas stood between the two groups. Gimli sat with his back against one of the great boulders that had fallen from the floors above and Naethri climbed on the same boulder to sit on it, her legs dandling a little higher than the dwarf's head, while she untied her plaits to comb her hair with a hairbrush she took from Rivendell, wishing she had a chance to wash them.

'I was thinking – ' Sam was true to his name and always spoke when he had something smart to say or a good question and apparently he had been ruminating over this puzzle for a while. 'I was thinking, we have to go through Gondor to reach Mordor, but wasn't Naethri exiled and banned? How are we going to overcome this problem?' he spoke looking at the woman opposite him and then he turned to look at the backs of the men.

Slowly both Aragorn and Boromir turned and looked at Sam first, then at Naethri who was indifferently braiding her hair. Apparently this issue hadn't crossed their minds.

Aragorn quickly reasoned 'I'm sure once it is established the nature of our quest and the bravery she has proven joining us we there may be a way for her sentence to be nullified, isn't it so Boromir?'

'I'm afraid it will prove hard to reason about this with my father' he said with a troubled look, 'but a suppose something may be arranged, maybe if she proves him – '

'I don't have to prove myself to no one, least of all your father, my lord' she revelled in the irritation her formality provoked in him. 'Sam I have already travelled through the lands of the Easterlings without being seen, I'm sure I could manage the same for Gondor. Besides, it's unlikely anyone would know who I am outside the major cities, only the capital is truly dangerous for me.'

'How can you travel without being seen?' blurted Pippin with an amazed expression.

'Disguised as man' was Naethri's serious reply, though she winked at the curious hobbit.

The only one who wasn't bee surprised by this explanation was Legolas, he was in fact interest in something much different.

'If you fear being recognized mostly in the capital or in major cities you must have been a public figure of sorts' he narrowed his eyes as he looked at her, she was tucking her braid in an elegant bun and her legs she kept gracefully together, one ankle behind the other, her lips thinned in irritation. 'I suppose the manners you were educated with as is expected by a lady of the court are hard to shed, even after the exile, even after Mordor, or the travels in the wild.'

Naethri just stared back at the elf. 'I'm not a lady anymore. My father disowned me and had me exiled, didn't he? I'm less than a commoner now' was her sharp reply.

'I'm sure your father tried all he could to spare you severe punishment, lassie' was Gimli's gruff and embarrassed intrusion.

'Her father is one of the highest members of the Council of Gondor, powerful enough to have anyone else prosecuted in her place. And he didn't' Boromir added quietly once he turned his back to face the darkness again. Only Aragorn heard him.

The matter was dropped since Gandalf exclaimed in triumph 'It's that way.'

'He's remembered' said Merry with relief.

'No. But the hair doesn't smell so foul down here. If in doubt, Meriadoc, always follow your nose' explained Gandalf.

They all rose to follow him but a dispute ensued when Gimli had decided he wanted to help Naethri to come off the very high rock she was sitting on.

'Come lass, lean on me and climb off' he proffered extending his arm.

'I'm afraid that is not possible, Gimli' she replied with a small smile at his growing kindness. 'I'm too high, your hand reach my ankles barely!'

Legolas had been watching the scene so he came between them and slid a hand behind Naethri's knees, pressing her legs against his chest, so she leaned forward resting her hands on his shoulders so as not to fall. As her chest was bent down towards the elf her pendant escaped out of the hem of her tunic and the stone flickered lightly in the dark, catching Boromir's eye.

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**This author really likes notes**: I honeslty feel like I'm stepping into the darkness with Naethri's father here because he is an OC and I can't find much on the internet about the courtly sturcture of Gondor (I mean, what did I expect?) so I'm kind of making him this old wise soldier that became a figure important enough in the eyes of the court to be granted a random title. Yes, I realise that cities like Dol Amroth (and Ithilien later) have princes, but they are princes because they are part of the royal house, well, the house of the Steward in any case. But Osgiliath is basically a ghost town and it had been for a long time in the period that the War of the Ring begins so I concluded that it didn't necessarily have a prince or anything of the sort so considering its sad situation it could've been governed by a lord of less noble heritage..  
But do share your opinions! I know it's only fanfiction and the story has already a set shape in my mind, I know where this is going, things in my head are eveloped up to years following the aftermath of the war so I'm probably going to stick to this plan the whole way through, but still, idk, I'm ranting now..hope you like it..


	8. Within the earth

**Author's Note**: I own Nothing save the original character, that is Naethri. Everything else belongs to J. R. R. Tolkien.

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**Another Author's Note**: I'm so glad there's people actually interested in the story and I hope you'll keep enjoying it! I'm sorry this chapter is not going to be particularly interesting but this is the confusing account of the battle in Khazad-dum and it's mostly based on the movie version. Rest assured though, I'm writing the chapter (or chapters, if it's too long I may split chapter 9 in two parts) on Lorien and lets be honest with each other, Lorien is the land of cliches. Something always happens in Lorien, which is reasonable since they spend like a month there! Also I'm arranging my thoughts on the events that will come to pass in Rohan! Uahahah! I'll make sure it will be as much of an emotional rollercoaster for you few readers as it will be for the characters! So please, bear with this boring chapter while I work on more exitement. Again, if you find typos let me know: I read these chapters so many times at some point I stop seeing mistakes, it's absurd. And finally if you have suggestions on naming the chapters please share because I'm struggling.

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The Fellowship moved eastwards abandoning the mines in the Deeps of Moria, following Gandalf through the dark passage he had chosen. The path in front of them was barely visible by the faint light the wizard shed ahead so they carefully led on up and down dangerous steps, along the intricate labyrinth of Khazad-dum. Naethri walked carefully grazing the wall of the mountain with the tip of her fingers, though she was annoyed with the uselessly intricate route they were taking in order to reach Mordor she had to admit she never thought she would see a dwarf mine, so overall it wasn't all bad. Even the dwarf, Gimli, was an awkward fellow but it seemed to her dwarves were like the mountains they inhabited, rough and hard outside and full of unexpected treasures. Legolas himself seemed to be growing fond of him although he would never admit it.

Once they were out of the passage the floor was flat beneath their feet and they moved more freely, then Gandalf forced his stone to shed a brighter light that everyone was left astounded by the surroundings. They had finally entered the majestic Dwarf-city within Moria, known by many names as it once was the greatest city ever created, though it had fallen in decay for over a thousand years. Pillars of stone sustained the mountain from within and they spread as far as the eye could see, they were cut form the very rock of the mountain and reached unbelievably high, so the companions felt much like ants captured in a box far greater than them. As they walked along the deserted city they spotted a ray of light coming from the eastern side, where a wooden door was ajar. Gimli gasped in shock as he saw there was a coffin in the illuminated room so he ran inside, followed by the rest of the company.

They entered a chamber scattered with rotten corpses and books all around at the centre of which lay a great tomb of stone with runic inscriptions in khuzdul. 'Here lies Balin, son of Fundin, Lord of Moria' Gandalf read while Gimli fell to his knees roaring his grief at the death of his cousin, Boromir rested a hand on his shoulder in sign of sympathy. On the grave fell a ray of sunlight coming through a breach in the wall and it illuminated the whole chamber, where everything was covered in dust and spider webs, revealing that a battle had taken place inside. The corpses were pierced with arrows and clothed in armours and helmets. Leaning on the coffin a body was still holding an old book in his hands and Gandalf pried it from the weak hold.

'They have taken the bridge and the second hall. We have barred the gates but cannot hold them for long. The ground shakes. Drums.. Drums in the deep. We cannot get out. A shadow moves in the dark. We cannot get out. They are coming' read Gandalf unsettling them all.

No one uttered a sound, so dreadful were the words Gandalf read. They looked at one another as each of them envisioned the hopeless battle that took place in the chamber, probably the last stand before the dwarves were vanquished. But suddenly the reverential silence was disrupted. Pippin had noticed a well at the back of the room and approached it enough to inspect the remains of a dwarf resting on its edge. As he touched the arrow protruding from its dusty bones there was a cringing sound and the body that had laid still for who knows how long shifted slowly and finally fell through the well with a deafening crash that perpetrated itself endlessly, since the well was deep and the bones and armour crashed against its walls. When finally the noise died out and nothing followed it the wizard reproached Pippin in anger, for if goblins or orcs had taken refuge within the mines of Moria after they slaughtered the dwarves the foolishness of the hobbit would have cost their lives.

Indeed Gandalf did finish his reprimand in time because faint echoes of drums reached their ears. Their hearts sank as the drums beat faster and louder, followed by horrid screeching and a roaring battle horn. Naethri stood protectively in front of the hobbits as she recognized the familiar tone of the horn and glanced back at Frodo, who pulled his small sword, Sting, out to find it glowing in warning: orcs were approaching fast. Boromir launched himself towards the door to see how far the enemy was but he had to quickly take a step back when a few arrows pierced the wood of the door next to his face.

'Get back!' called Naethri.

Boromir stepped back barring the door in front of him announcing in desperate amusement that the orcs were charging with the aid of a cave-troll. Aragorn flung himself on the door as well and Legolas handed both men broken swords, spears and axes to bar the door.

'Get back! Stay behind Gandalf!' Aragorn ordered the hobbits as they retreated to the centre of the room, reading themselves for the attack.

Gandalf stood in front of the hobbits brandishing his sword and Gimli climbed upon the tomb of his cousin holding his axe, glad to unleash his fury against the foul beasts. The others stood in front of the tomb, Legolas and Aragorn had their bows ready to fire while on their sides Boromir and Naethri drew their swords. The archers lost no time in shooting through the breaches the enemy axes cut in the old door, wounding the orcs on the other side, but soon they made their way through the barred door. Naethri planned to shield the hobbits at first but as the orcs flocked in the chamber and the fury of the battle infected them all the short hobbits flew past her brandishing their small sharp swords, launching themselves at the monsters. Even the old wizard charged with a cry, Gimli took down as many orcs as he could from his post while Aragorn swung his sword with force, beheading many. Boromir drove his sword with fury in bodies in the bodies enemies, warding them off with his round heavy shield and Naethri attacked as many a she could, further strengthened by her rage.

The companions were taken aback in horror when the cave-troll walked through the door roaring and brandishing a gargantuan mace, raising it to the heavens before crashing it on the ground upon the first victim he could see, which happened to be Sam who was fast enough to dive between the legs of the beast escaping his blow. The troll pursued him and tried to squash him with his foot so Aragorn and Boromir ran against him to distract him from his small prey though in his fury he flung Boromir across the room with a single blow. The man crashed against the wall and finally on the floor and quickly tried to stand up again, but stunned as he was he had no time to prepare himself against the orc that quickly came towards him with a sword. Aragorn was fast enough to throw his sword at the offending orc, than fell convulsively dying, earing Boromir's gratitude.

Gimli was killing many orcs from his pedestal but with his back turned he did not see one of them coming at him from behind. Naethri did see him though and took a run-up so as to leap on the back of the attacker pushing him to the ground with her feet and pushing her sword in his throat. She shot Gimli a look which he acknowledged with recognition and resumed slaying as many as she could. Gimli had to jump off the coffin when the cave-troll tried to crash him but Legolas, who was swiftly taking down numerous orcs with arrows and knives, aimed his bow at the massive beast distracting him from his pursuit of the dwarf. The troll in fact turned to Legolas trying to crash him but the elf leaped on his back and shot arrows at the back of his neck to no effect. So little did the troll notice the arrows that he turned to another small prey and he began chasing the hobbits. The hobbits fought bravely with what they had, sticking together as always they defended one another with swords and pans but were separated when the troll crashed his mace towards them.

The monster seemed to be attracted especially to Frodo and he aimed blindly at him trying to get a hold of him. Frodo screamed Aragorn's name in anguish and the Ranger ran to him with a spear, which he drove in the troll's chest while the other hobbits threw rocks at his head. Naethri had also heard Frodo's cries and ran towards them only to see Aragorn flung to the side by the troll, so she ran to his back stabbing the beast in his back and in his legs with no effect. The troll then grabbed the spear embedded in his chest and pierced Frodo with inhuman force. Marry and Pippin, distraught, climbed the back of the monster stabbing him in the neck and the rest of the Fellowship attacked the beast with rage until finally Legolas took him down with several arrows in the head. Slowly the comrades encircled the body of Frodo in concern and dread but with great relief they saw he still drew breath. As he regained consciousness they all marvelled at his resilience.

'You should be dead' voiced Aragorn still panting, 'that spear would have skewered a wild boar.'

At this Frodo revealed the chainmail made of mithril beneath his tunic to their great surprise. But the moment of respite was interrupted when they all heard more screeches and roars in the distance. Gandalf urged them onwards to the Bridge of Khazad-dum and so they ran along the pillared hall, pursued by countless orcs in the dim light and soon they were joined by a multitude of goblins descending from the ceiling of the hollowed mountain so the Fellowship was quickly encircled. When all hope was lost the orcs and the goblins seemed to shiver in fear at the sound of a deeper roar coming from within the earth. There was another frightful growl and their pursuers began to run away in fear as fast as they could. Gimli voiced his satisfaction at their retreat but Naethri knew nothing good could have orcs and goblins running in fear.

For a few moments they stood in the middle of the hall as they saw a red bright light approaching from afar but Naethri saw Gandalf's pained expression and soon they all stared at him questioningly.

'A Balrog' finally said Gandalf, 'a demon of the ancient world. This foe is beyond any of you. Run!'

And so they fled in haste, as an unbearable warmth spread through the hall and the light at its end shone brighter while the demon approached. Boromir, Legolas and Naethri led the way, Gimli followed and Aragorn herded the hobbits, Gandalf was the last warning Aragorn that he must lead the Fellowship forward. They reached a narrow staircase that plunged into the darkness but they hurried on, until Boromir came to a sudden halt when the stairs abruptly ended, he perilously stumbled on the last step but Legolas was fast enough to reach for him pulling him back, both falling backwards at Naethri's feet. Naethri pushed the hobbits along another ramp of stairs to their right, she could vaguely make out the bridge that would lead them out of Moria, far in to the distance.

Legolas and Boromir were in front of her and again Boromir stopped in front of a wide gap in the stairs. Legolas swiftly leapt to the other side and Naethri followed him and they turned to the fellowship exhorting them to follow. After a brief hesitation Gandalf hopped towards them, light on his old bones, but suddenly spears fell upon them, and arrows followed: Goblins were aiming at them from the galleries and the staircases surrounding them. Boromir grabbed both Merry and Pippin and jumped, then he covered them from the flying arrows with his shield while Legolas took some of the enemy archers down shooting at them with impeccable precision. Aragorn tossed Sam across the gap and was about to toss Gimli as well but the dwarf refused and leapt on his own, though his legs were too short to give him the necessary thrust and barely landed on the broken stairs, almost falling down if Legolas hadn't caught him by the beard.

Aragorn and Frodo were still on the other side when the ground trembled at the heavy steps of the nearing Balrog. But the old staircase from which Aragorn and Frodo were about to jump gave way beneath their feet, and they had to retreat further back as the gap between the Fellowship widened impossibly. And the ground shook, and shook again. Rocks fell from the ceiling of the mountain like rain falls from the sky, though not as kindly. And in their fall the rocks crashed on the stairs behind Frodo and Aragorn and they seemed lost to the others on a drifting island of broken steps in the darkness of Moria as the fiery tempest of the demon behind them came closer. And the stairs wobbled on the remaining pillar of stone on which they stood, leaning backwards and forwards unable to stand upright, until it finally leaned towards the steps the Fellowship was standing on. Aragorn got a hold of Frodo and waited steadfast for the impending crash. When the inches closed between both sides of the crumbling stairs Aragorn jumped dragging Frodo along and they were caught in the arms of their companions. Once they reunited they resumed their flight and behind them a dark roaring fire spread while the Balrog caught up with them.

Gandalf urged them forward from behind, they had finally reached the bridge and they ran along the thin precarious strip of rock. Once they were all safely on the other side, on steady ground, Gandalf stopped on the bridge and turned to face the dreadful monster chasing them. The company glanced behind and were to turn in the aid of the wizard but they were stuck to the ground in horror at the sight of the fearsome creature before them, clouded in a dark smoke and covered in a fire that shed no light. Gandalf cursed the beast, spurring it backwards with the magic of his staff and a battle began between the two titans of power. When Gandalf crushed his staff on the bridge he repelled the Balrog at first, but it was not enough to stop the beast who treaded forward. In that moment the stones of the bridge collapsed beneath him and he fell in the endless void, roaring and striking the darkness with his whip until it got a hold of Gandalf and dragged him over the falling bridge.

As the wizard fell he turned to his companions crying 'Fly, you fools!'

Naethri watched hypnotised as the scene unfolded before her and saw a small figure rush in front of her in a blur. Frodo dashed forwards screaming at the sight of the old friend falling into darkness but was tightly grasped by Boromir who called at Aragorn, just as dumbstruck as her, to leave the mines where fire had begun to spread and rocks kept falling above their heads. They rushed along the dark passages until they finally saw a small light ahead of them and after almost three days in the stiff air and chilling darkness of Moria they finally basked the sun again. In the exhaustion of the body and of the spirit they all staggered in the blinding light, overwhelmed by the brightness and the grief. Legolas and Boromir were the only ones standing, though they gaped around as if they struggled to breathe, and at first they had to struggle with Gimli who insisted on going back for Gandalf, whereas the others had fallen to the ground in tears. Aragorn and Naethri were the first ones to regain control of their feelings and called to the others to get up.

'By nightfall these hills will be swarming with orcs. We must reach the woods of Lothlorien' insisted Aragorn.

'Give them a moment, for pity's sake!' protested Boromir.

'He is right, we have no time to indulge. They can grieve while walking all the same' was Naethri stern but hollow reply.

Boromir had to comply with their judgement. Aragorn helped Sam to his feet and then looked around concerned.

'Frodo?' he called when he could not see him.

But Naethri had already spotted the distraught hobbit who never stopped walking once they exited the mountain, and slowly staggered in the direction of Lothlorien, his face streaked with tears.

They had until sundown to reach the elven forest so they advanced at a fast pace, jogging along the rocks and the tussocks until they reached the healing of waters of the Nimrodel and stopped to rest in area where the riverbed was most shallow.

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I would have published this sooner but you know, real life..

Anyway I was rereading the story from the beginning and I must say that it's written like crap so I'm considering about rewriting it, better and longer, but not now. Maybe later on.. In the following months I might have to move and start my major so for now I kind of feel the need to get this story out of my head and in the material world, later I might fix and expand. But I'll let you know in the author's notes when we reach the end so if you are really interested and follow the updates I will warn you in time!


	9. Sheltering forest

**Author's Note**: I own Nothing save the original characters, that is Naethri and Lord Gonnfaer. Everything else belongs to J. R. R. Tolkien.

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**The author likes to talk**: Hi! I'm still here..I've been a bit busy. .. Not true, I got kind of absorbed with this thing I was writing on earthquakes and also I got sucked into watching this british tvshow of the late 60s (The Prisoner, which is awsome, some high levels of mindfuckery, it's true bliss) and then for some reason I started watching several other crappy american tvshows, the kind so bad they cancelled them after one season, and also I finished a book writted by a local author and I was so in love with it, I felt really connected to the topics discussed in the novel.

But I'm here. I am. I have to finish this, I can't do as I always do, I start something and then I abandon it halfway through. Besaids I'm really glad there some people that are enjoying the story and thanks for the comments! In fact reviewing is encouraged, it means a lot to me to feel you out there. Bless you!

As always do let me know if you find typos etc.

Now, as forseen the Lorien chapter was coming out too long so this is the first part, I'm finishing the second part so be ready! Uahahha!

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Naethri walked among weeds so high they touched her calves as they followed the river into the forest. They did not stop for long after they escaped Moria and they quickly resumed their journey in the late afternoon in the hope of finding an area where they could spend the night safely. As they approached the elven realm tall silvery trees increased in number around them, but still too sparsely to shelter the numerous party. They walked on silently and heavy with sorrow but Naethri could not help a feeling of apprehension. Since they had left Moria she felt observed, pursued. While they walked in the tall grass she kept hearing a rustling, at first she thought it was just the wind blowing between the thin blades of grass, but the feeling of being followed was too strong, too real. She kept turning her head back, gazing around in the hope of catching their spy, she kept a hand on the hilt of her sword, prepared. But she could not see anything. Aragorn noticed her distress and they shared a look. Naethri strode faster until she was by his side. He felt the presence too.

'We are being followed since we left the mines' she stated matter-of-factly, shifting her eyes around.

'I know' he kept looking ahead, unconcerned but he continued since Naethri glared at him unsatisfied. 'Gollum has been following us since Moria. He seeks the Ring. But I don't think he will cause us trouble. For now. Don't worry about him.'

She was not thoroughly convinced but her anxiety subsided a little and she listened to Boromir and Gimli who were discussing of the legends surrounding the forest of Lorien. She knew those legends as well, about the powerful elven witch, but at this point there was no going back, there was no time for hesitation.

They were suddenly caught unawares by a party of elves aiming their arrows at them. The elves had long golden hair and were clad in grey and brown. Most of all they seemed concerned with the presence of Gimli among them. It was indeed odd for a group of men and hobbits to travel in the company of an elf, but in the company of both an elf and a dwarf it was unheard of! The members of the Fellowship had grown strangely close to one another in those months, their comradery was so natural to them now. It was not natural to the Silvan elves and they were regarded with great suspicion, Gimli in particular was treated with great alterity.

To everyone's surprise it was Legolas the first to react to the offensive treatment of his companion, bursting in an aggressive defence of Gimli, though Naethri did not really understand the argument that took place between the elves, only that any possible altercation was avoided by the intervention of Aragorn who brought peace among the two. In the meantime the elf who seemed to be the chief introduced himself as the Marchwarden of Lothlorien, Haldir, and gestured to the two standing at his sides as his brothers, Rumil and Orophin. They led the guests deeper into the forest, where they were surrounded by the tallest trees Naethri had ever seen, and as night fell the silver barks seemed to glisten in the moonlight that peered through the gently swaying leaves. The golden Mallorn trees were famous all over Middle-Earth but from beneath the forest was silver. Finally they stopped at the bottom of one of the tall trees and they were shown a wooden staircase that rose in a spiral around the bark of the tree and disappeared among the leaves and the branches on top.

The Fellowship climbed up along the staircase until they reached a wooden house resting hidden above the branches of the tree, so far up it was disturbing to look down at the bottom of the forest. It seemed at first the wardens of Lorien would offer them hospitality, but they were soon surrounded by armed elves that emerged from among the branches and the leaves, some inspecting the ground below, others keeping an eye on them. Haldir spoke of something with Legolas and Aragorn again but Gimli soon got himself involved in the least good-mannered way, though he rightly called for them all to speak the common tongue. The elves still spoke to him with great disdain and were rewarded only by the curses of the dwarf, which they seemed not to acknowledge at all though it was clear they understood. Haldir seemed to notice all of a sudden the presence of the hobbits and when his eyes fell on Frodo he surly perceived the presence of the Ring, therefore he stated firmly they could not go any further into the forest, though they may rest in the safety of their flets for the night.

Long negotiations took place between Haldir and Aragorn in the hope they may be allowed cross the forest and reach the Anduin, so the Fellowship waited restlessly and sitting in the shimmering moonlight their thoughts ran back to Gandalf and his fall. But among them grew also a sense of unease since their path was now being obstructed due to what Frodo carried. Naethri was standing gazing at Aragorn and Haldir but she often glanced at her companions, sitting nearby, so she perceived the uneasy looks most of them shot at Frodo and she could see the weight burdening him in his eyes and a great sadness. Apparently she was not the only one to have seen the hardships tormenting the hobbit because Boromir sat next to him, speaking words of understanding and sympathy, though Frodo was often tense when in great proximity of the man, especially if he spoke to him.

Naethri felt quite sorry for Boromir now, he meant only to be kind to Frodo. It was evident to all he was tired and weary, but the other hobbits couldn't fully empathise with him, whereas Boromir had the background and experience that allowed him to fathom, even though remotely, the sorrow Frodo could feel. After the incident on their way to Caradhras he appeared weak to the power of the Ring, weak of mind. But he was not weak, they all barely knew Boromir, Naethri knew him well though. He was passionate, passionate to his people and his city and all the things he loved. As he was passionate in the defence of his brother against his father since they were both children and as he was passionate in her defence since she could remember.

And she got lost in remembrance once again, of when she was a child and he and Faramir were young men. They once found her in a narrow backstreet with a doll and a black cheekbone, she could have been twelve and them in their twenties. She was avoiding her father and her nurses, they were avoiding their own father and searching for a tavern and plenty of ale.

'What are you doing here?' was the puzzled question Boromir shot her, squatting in front of her.

Naethri raised her face to him and her deadly expression was so absurd on the child he would have laughed had he not seen the bruise on her face and the scratches all over.

'What happened? Who did this to you?' were the following and more serious questions, as he picked her up to his chest.

'The stable boy stole my doll the other day. I made him give it back to me' she answered solemnly. Faramir could not contain the laughter.

'Did you fight him?' Boromir was incredulous at the girl at first but he quickly changed his mind. 'Where is this boy? I have a thing or two to say to him' and he lunged forward in the street with the girl in his arms, sternly looking around.

'And what _are_ you going to say to this boy?' Faramir ran to him still chuckling. 'Are you going to fight him? Be serious Boromir. We should get Naethri back to her father. It's late and Lord Gonnfaer will be worried' he reasoned.

Boromir wasn't very convinced but his brother was right.

'In fact maybe it's best if I take her home,' he continued extending his arms. 'I don't even what to imagine Lord Gonnfaer's reaction if you deliver him his daughter in these conditions, especially if you relate the events in your usual tactlessness'

'Mhm.. You are quite the diplomat compared to me' Boromir reasoned and slowly handed him the girl. 'Naethri, I hope you did punch that boy really hard and if he ever bothers you again I want you to call me, is that clear?'

'No,' interceded Faramir with a look 'you are going to call me so I can reason with the boy without having to send him to a healer for an indefinite amount of time. Violence must be the last resort Naethri, no matter what.'

Naethri always had great fun listening to the two brothers bicker on who would defend her best, though their arguments were never in anger and always in jest. She admired them both: growing up she cherished above all Faramir's chivalry and gallantry, but the courtly manners she was enforced with by her educators only masked the quick temper she shared with Boromir. With hindsight she considered how fast time had passed, from the days they had cradled her in their arms when she was a just child, to the moment she became a woman, a young woman perhaps, but in a court a girl of marriageable age was a woman nonetheless. It was then she realized her admiration was no longer that of a child towards their brotherly figures, she grew up and she changed. She craved their admiration as well, _his_ admiration, she wanted to be seen as the 'woman' she was. So she finally tossed aside the rundown shabby tunics that made her look like a boy, she let her hair grow and began to choose her gowns with care.

'You will follow us in the morning to the Lords of Lothlorien' was the abrupt call of the Marchwarden to the rest of the Fellowship and just as suddenly he left, leaving them in the company of several wardens of the forest to watch over them during the night.

Indeed the following morning they descended from the trees but they were none too happy when the elves came to them holding strips of cloth. It was decided the Fellowship would cross Lothlorien and reach Caras Galadhon but they were to do it blindfolded, that was the agreement Haldir and Aragorn had come to. The elves did not like the presence of the dwarf in their forest, they had not dealt with dwarves since the Dark Days. They were further stressed by the presence of the Ring and insisted on denying the Fellowship passage through their territories therefore it took Aragorn a long time to reach an agreement. So they slowly walked in the dark, guided by the wardens, and when they reached the heart of the forest and were free to remove the blindfolds the day had run its course again and the sun was setting, but the sight in front of them was all the more breath-taking. The Marchwarden was filled with pride when he announced their arrival to Caras Galadhon, the heart of Elvendom on earth, realm of the Lord Celeborn and of Galadriel, Lady of Light.

The forest was thicker now and endless staircases wounded around many of the tall trees, lighted by small silvery lights that sparkled among the leaves like countless fireflies. Once the steps reached the highest parts of the trees they spread in many direction, sideways but also further up, wherever flets were scattered around on the branches. At the centre of this wondrous city hidden amidst the trees was the residence of the Lords of the Galadrhim, this flet radiated the warmest and purest light through the elegantly carved wood of its architecture. Once they had reached the hall of this residence the Fellowship stood in awe as the Lords descended towards them, surrounded by the silver light that illuminated the forest. The faces of Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel were static but pure, stern but not hard. They were the apex of the alterity of elves in the eyes of mortals.

'The enemy knows you have entered here. What hope you had in secrecy is now gone' spoke Lord Celeborn. 'Nine there are here, yet ten there were set out from Rivendell. Tell me, where is Gandalf? For I much desire to speak with him. I can no longer see him from afar.'

Their distraught countenances at his question were quickly read by the Lady Galadriel, who spared them all the grievance to answer him.

'Gandalf the Grey did not pass the borders of this land. He has fallen into Shadow' she voiced, and her companion slowly turned at her in sadness.

'He was taken by both Shadow and flame, a Balrog of Morgoth' explained Legolas. 'For we went needlessly into the net of Moria.' His word stung deep in the heart of Gimli, the one who suggested to take the roads through Moria in the first place.

'Needless were none of the deeds of Gandalf in life. We do not yet know his full purpose' were the kind words the Lady spoke glancing at each of them. 'Do not let the great emptiness of Khazad-dum fill you heart Gimli, son of Gloin, for the world had grown full of peril and in all lands love is now mingled with grief.' And at these words her eyes rose from Gimli and set on Boromir, who shivered and gulped loudly under her stare, a stare she slowly shifted on Naethri. Under her gaze she felt week, the Lady pried in the recesses of her mind and saw all her secrets, felt all her fears. But she could also feel her voice within her head, a voice that spoke with reassurance, inviting her to not lose hope nor close her heart to love, inflicting on herself a punishment for crimes she did not commit, when other hands were the ones who wronged her and kinder ones would help her stand if only she would let them.

'What now becomes of this Fellowship? Wihout Gandalf, hope is lost' were the adverse words of Lord Celeborn.

'The quest stand upon the edge of a knife. Stray but a little and it will fail to the ruin of all' continued, dishearteningly, the Lady. 'Yet hope remains while the Company is true. Do not let your hearts be troubled. Go now and rest for you are weary with sorrow and much toil. Tonight you will sleep in peace.'

Naethri did not have the strength to look in the eyes of the elven Lady again, for fear she would read inside her again, and she kept her eyes to the ground when they thanked the Lords of Lothlorien for their hospitality. Haldir guided them once more down at the feet of the trees to follow the Silverlode back to a hill they must have passed on their way to Caras Galadhon, though they did not see because of the blindfolds. The hill was known as Cerin Amroth and there, in a clearing in the woods, they were allowed to set up a camp; later several elves came to bring them food, lamps, sheets, pillows and other such provisions. Naethri asked if she could have a handful of sugar and honey and her request was promptly satisfied.

They ate frugally, they were not hungry despite the fatigue, so Naethri took the sugar, honey and a pot and walked along the Silverlode, accompanied by the sad chants of the elves that echoed through the forest, until she was sure she was alone and far from voyeurs. She lit up a small fire and boiled a little water, slowly adding the sugar and honey, stirring with a twig until it became a sticky amber paste. She removed the pot from the fire and when it was cool enough she stripped and began removing all the unwanted hair from all over her body. In the comforts of Minas Tirith her servants and handmaidens would shave her with blades but in the Beaches she learned how to prepare the useful paste, which saved her from the countless cuts she inflicted on herself during the first months of her exile, when she strove to maintain a decent appearance. Now, with a company of all men, it was growing difficult to keep up with her toiletry. It bothered her that some of her companions might stumble on her naked by a river, engaged in such activities, so she felt content now she had the time and the space to indulge in this luxury. When she was done she delved in the clear river to wash the pot and then carefully bathed herself.

On her way back to the camp she brushed her hair, still a little wet, and she could faintly hear Boromir's voice. When she finally reached the voices she found him talking with passion of his city to Aragorn, who had an unreadable expression. They both glanced up at her for a second as she passed them but Aragorn soon rose and spurred his companion to get some rest. She wondered if Boromir knew who Aragorn truly was, besides being the heir of Isildur, she wondered of Boromir was born yet when Thorongil fought for Gondor and his grandfather, and if so she wondered if Aragorn had any memory of Boromir as a child. She was inadvertently smiling and grazing her corset with her fingers, until she was shaken in surprise by Gimli's powerful snores. Then she tugged at the laces and removed it, for she slept only with the tunic and the breeches, and she left it on the pillows she had chosen for herself, amid the rest of her possessions. But she was restless yet and she stood staring at the silver leaves above her, the sky so far and the forest still too thick for her to see the sky. Boromir eventually followed Aragorn to lay and sleep but he stopped next to her, staring yet he said nothing, so she looked back at him questioningly. Aragorn was the one who voiced Boromir's thoughts when he saw them from where he was sitting.

'You are showing your true colours Naethri' he said with a faint smile.

At first she did not understand but then she noticed Boromir's eyes were directed to her hair, and she grasped a handful in realization. She had not dyed them in over a month and the paint was fading, in the faint light of the candles and the lanterns her hair was once again black, only by the light of the sun they gleamed a deep shade of copper.

'They suit you best' was all Boromir managed to say. 'You should not hide them.'

And he walked off to lay in one of the niches carved in the trees with the rest of the Fellowship. After a few moments, while she just stared in the void holding her hair, Naethri joined her companions and laid between the alcoves of the hobbits and Gimli. In the darkness and with the comfort of the soft sheets covering her that the elves had given them she risked to remove her breeches as well and she slept with only her tunic and her drawers.

The Fellowship was welcome to recover their strengths in the Golden Wood for as long as they deemed necessary, and indeed they were all weary and wounded deep within.


	10. Beneath the golden trees

**Author's Note**: I own Nothing save the original characters, that is Naethri and Lord Gonnfaer. Everything else belongs to J. R. R. Tolkien.

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**A.N.**: Ok, so my apologies to the few but constant readers, I know this took a looong time but I kept editing and honestly I still don't like this chapter. I wanted to end it differently but I'm changing my mind about the structure of the next chapter so the ending is a bit..idk.. Anyways, as I had planned when I first started writing the content gets a little more mature. As always your comments and suggestions are appreciated.

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In the safety of the peaceful forest they grieved and they healed, slowly. Gandalf was the guide of the Fellowship, his loss so early in their quest was a hard blow on all of them so they decided to spend as much time is would be necessary in Lothlorien in order to clear their minds and ready themselves for the travel ahead.

The first weeks they spent in Lothlorien were kind on most of them. The hobbits could eat as much as they wished, Gimli had begun to change his mind on elves in general and not only on Legolas, who on his par seemed to be his usual self, though more in his natural element. Aragorn seemed just as weary as usual, only a little relaxed perhaps, whereas Boromir began to look uneasy and overwhelmed with concerns, especially he avoided the company of the hobbits which at first he had found surprisingly entertaining. Frodo was mostly pensive and had grown quiet and aloof even from his closest friends; many times he shared glanced with Naethri and she called him to her, leading him in long walks in the woods. Surely everyone assumed they spoke of Mordor in their walks but they spent most of their time in silence. Naethri described to him what routes he could follow once he had crossed the mountains but she only spoke vaguely of how to actually cross them. Frodo and Naethri were both well aware that it was pointless to speak of that since there was no way to predict what the situation would be like once Frodo reached the mountains, nor did either of them have any expectations on reaching them together. But Frodo appreciated the time away from the others since Naethri hardly ever asked him anything, nor did she stare at him with concern, fear or greed, she mostly looked at him in sadness and understanding, picking the small flowers that covered Cerin Amroth and distractedly twisting them together.

Naethri usually wondered the hill on her own, she was enraptured by the variety of snowdrops that grew in the shade of Lorien and braided crowns with those and the star-flowers typical of that forest. It was in one such promenades, in the evening, that she saw Boromir walking just as aimlessly as her. He was a little ahead of her so she crept up silently behind him and he turned abruptly around to face her when he felt another presence nearby. In his eyes she could read the agitation, the sorrow and also confusion. How helpless he looked then, she had never seen him so. Naethri gently raised her palm to cup his cheek for a few seconds but then she grabbed a fistful of his tunic with little grace and led him farther from the camp and deeper into the forest.

'Wha –' he began to ask, but then he closed his mouth and posed no resistance.

Once she was satisfied with their surrounding she escorted him to sit between some tall bushed and the emerging roots of a mallorn tree and there she sat. So he sat next to her. And as it had always been between the two of them there was no nervousness, no words, mainly hesitation on his part after their long separation and especially considering the circumstances of the separation. Slowly but firmly she reached for him and kissed him on the lips. He responded instantly, taking a hold of her arms first, then her waist while she sunk her hands in his hair. Their kisses were short though passionate at first and soon grew longer and fiercer, until they lay on the ground, their legs entwined.

Naethri slid her hand along Boromir's chest and tugged at the laces of his breeches while they kissed but he stopped to look at her. If he faltered for a moment his hesitation dissipated at the sight of her. He backed from her to take off his tunic and then began to fumble with the ties of her breeches while she undid her corset. He was faster though and by the time she was done with the corset he had already pushed her trousers down her legs, pulled her boots off and was finally unlacing her drawers. When she was finally free she sat in front of him, who remained on his knees, and unlaced his breaches while he tugged at her own tunic.

'No' she said without looking up at him. 'It's cold.'

'I'll keep you warm' her assured her while she pushed his breeches sufficiently down his thighs.

'No' she insisted, pushing him to sit on the ground and straddling him.

'Wait, not like thi –' he began to protest. He wanted to love her with slow sweetness befitting the peaceful forest but he caught his breath when she slid down engulfing him within her, her face buried in the crook of his neck with a gasp.

And as one they began to move against each other in haste. She rocked her hips on his lap and he helped her motion holding her thighs, panting and clasping at one another. The only sounds were his ragged breaths, her quiet moans and the slapping of their flesh. Naethri's pace was frantic and soon she began to tense with the approaching of her climax, digging her nails in Boromir's shoulders and suppressing her cries in his hair. The feel of her slick walls around him, after all those years, hot and convulsing, was maddening but he forced himself not to give into the urge to come with her. Not yet. So when she finally slowed down, her chest still heaving in exertion, he held her against his chest and pulled himself out of her, concentrating hard until his excitement subdued. When both had recovered their breath he grabbed her thigh with one hand and with the other he supported her back, then he laid her on the ground and held himself above her holding his weight on his forearms on either side of her.

Her darkening hair was spread out on the soft grass, she looked at him with the same expression she had years before and even now he had no idea how to interpret it. He kissed her softly on the mouth, on the collarbone, he kissed the soft breast hidden beneath the tunic and then softly bit the tip of it. Boromir shifted lower to kiss her stomach but she grabbed him by the hair and dragged him back up to her lips. As they slowly kissed Naethri raised her knees and locked her ankles around Boromir's waist and he slid inside her again, though he took his time. Holding her hip with one hand he thrust with rhythmic force and muffled her cries with his lips.

They laid on the grass, hidden by the bushes and the shadows of the trees above them, until their hunger was satisfied and that took a long while since they had not held each other as lovers do for long years. When they were at last appeased Boromir held Naethri's back to his chest and they rested half naked in silence, neither wanted to speak since as always they were plagued with doubts. Boromir shifted a little so Naethri's back was on the grass and he could look at her face easily. He wanted to tell her over and over how much he loved her, how much he loved her still, he wanted to beg her, as he did many times before, to have him as her husband. And as years ago he was sure she'd refuse him, she did not love him the way he loved her and it wrecked him.

This only added to the general dishonour with which he felt he had tainted himself, and her especially, every time she'd come to him. A honourable man would have fought his desire, would have resisted her temptation. His brother would have been ashamed of his lack of integrity, he had compromised her irrevocably. If he was sure she would have accepted his hand his behaviour _could_ have been excusable, but he knew she didn't love him, he knew she loved another. In fact she probably hated him, considering her hostile display back in Rivendell and the general indifference she had shown him the past months of their journey. She had shot him sufficient cutting remarks at him, though indirectly, such as the mention of that paramour of hers wherever she had been in the east.

'Will you ever forgive me?' he asked, but she did not answer, she merely gazed up at him with her hermetic expression. His temper began to wane in front of her composure.

'And will you forgive Faramir? Or have you already forgiven him? Because I don't recall him coming to your rescue against my father' he continued, with spite, in the hope of braking her stasis.

He was rewarded indeed because she flinched and furrowed her brows. Slowly she rose to a sitting position.

'Must you always ruin everything?' she glanced at him with great sadness, then she grabbed her breeches and quickly pulled them on. In silence she collected her boots, her corset and her drawers and she left him.

Behind her melancholic calmness a storm raged unspoken. A long forgotten peace washed over her while she rested against his chest, lulled by his breathing in the silence of the forest. But he had to bring up the past and spoil the tranquillity. He had to sting her pride reviving the memory of her humiliation, when she was refused by the man she was infatuated with, mentioning his name. Naethri strayed at length in the dim light before returning to the camp, and she mused on the bite of rejection she still felt, dimmed now, and chiefly caused by her embarrassment and shame rather than any actual resentment.

Boromir remained for a long time where Naethri had left him, then he dressed again but still he did not wish to return to camp and see her, not now at least. He was a fool, once more he had proven his weakness with her. As he did seven years ago when she first came to him one night in Minas Tirith, he should've refused her then, respect her honour, but his desire for her was too strong and she was wanton herself. Naethri had come to his rooms in the night, a malicious glint in her eyes, and she slowly disrobed in front of him. He had felt blessed at first, as if he had been finally granted all that he wished for. But her desire was not driven by love, it was fuelled by spite and lust and revenge. She knew how much he wanted her, how much he loved her, he had already confessed to her, and she had been resentful for years, since Faramir answered her pleads of love with an attestation of his own love, a love that would always only be brotherly, much to her despair.

Her oblivious father could have been Boromir greatest ally or the judge of his doom. Once Lord Gonnfaer became part of the Council of the Steward he had been driven by a potent lust for power, thus when his daughter reached a marriageable age he was secretly seeking to strike a propitious match. Boromir had hoped, if Naethri accepted him, her father would not oppose their union, after all what better match could he find than the heir of the Steward? But Lord Gonnfaer was always strangely mysterious on the matter: he insisted he had found the perfect husband for his daughter but he never elaborated further. Boromir only imagined that his aims were addressed towards one of the other council members and he was horrified at the thought of his beloved betrothed to one of the elders of the council, or even to one of their sons. He had to admit to himself that he was in fact quite older than Naethri, but the fifteen years that passed between them were nothing compared to the elders of his father's Council. These arguments never did much to dull his guilt though.

The true obstacle was her evident infatuation with his brother. Between Boromir and Faramir there had always been a bond so strong that if his brother reciprocated Naethri's feelings Boromir would've given her up to him without a thought. But he knew his brother's heart and that the love he bore her was not of the same nature as his. Naethri had harboured her crush for a long while. She was still quite a girl in the eyes of the two brothers when she began to see Faramir in a different light. Her father often spoke to her of her future, of how one day she was to be wed to a lord, so she fantasized of the gallant lord that would ask for her hand, or at least she did until her father's plan became clear to her. In the mean time she had come to envision Faramir as the personification of this lord, and she began to hope it would in fact be him to one day have her hand in marriage. She could've been 15 then and for years she looked up to him, at first with a sudden shyness which earned her the banters of the two brothers, until her blushes faded.

They still saw her with the same affection and kindness as they always did, so she grew more purposeful, she did not shy away anymore, in fact she walked with her head held high, the portrait of grace and dignity, clad in refined gowns and adorned with elegant jewels. By the time she was 17 she truly had bloomed into an exquisite young lady and, though she aimed her beauty solely at one man, there were many young knights and lords that could not help admiring her. They probably fancied getting close to her enough to try to woo her, but very few dared, most of these suitors were in fact mildly frightened by the two Captains she always spent her time with, and those few who did dare to approach her were soon rejected with a cold smile, the piercing stare of her grey eyes and an indifferent dismissal.

The following days after Boromir had mentioned Faramir to her in the spitefulness of his temper, Naethri quickly lapsed in the irrationality of her bitterness and unleashed it against him at every opportunity, her self-control could only do so much. At the same time the decay of her self-control heightened her licentiousness so she sought him again, as discreetly as she could in order not to arouse any suspicion in their companions. In resuming their affair the same bundle of confused feelings began to torment them both once again. Naethri refused to seek the answered to the question that had been vexing her for years, all the while Boromir couldn't help racking his brains with endless questions, which started with Naethri and her behaviour and quickly shifted to Minas Tirith, to his father, the quest he had embarked on and finally the Ring. And the more he thought about the Ring the greater the toll was for his mind.

The last weeks of their permanence among the elves proved to be the hardest for all. Aragorn had often sought the council of Celeborn: now that Gandalf had fallen he searched for guidance and wisdom in the Lord of the Galadhrim, since he was well aware that the Fellowship would look up to Aragorn as their leader and this responsibility he embraced with no enthusiasm. Legolas spent most of his time among his kin but he often enjoyed the company of his acquired comrades, especially since to his great amusement Naethri had taken the habit of entangling the yellow Elanor flowers of Lorien in Gimli's beard as he slept, which made quite a spectacle, most notably so when he woke considering it took him a while to notice the coiffure and subsequently he would burst in long and loud complaints.

Whereas Boromir was only growing more distressed and edgy. He resented Aragorn's lack of resolution for the future plans, his apparent disinclination towards his responsibility and the undeniable mistrust he had for his true kin, the men-folk and Gondor especially. He could not deny the man had strength and courage but in his eyes he was aloof in the face of the obligations he was heir to. To appease himself Boromir spent much of his time with the hobbits. It was soothing for him to listen to the merry talk of the halflings, their description of the Shire and the customs of their people. He also charged himself with their protection and safekeeping for they might've been eager to join their quest but they were barely able to swing a small sword and their poor set of skills would not prove sufficient to protect themselves during their perilous journey. Although the loss of Gandalf and the battle they engaged in in the depths of Moria had probably enlightened them in regards of the dangers they would face in the future they still were the most vulnerable in the group in Boromir's eyes, even Naethri could keep up a fight though it was not her profession like it was for the rest of them.

If the company of the hobbits was a balm for his troubled spirit the effect soon began to wane, the constant proximity of Frodo was unsettling him more every day. As time passed Boromir glared at the Ring-Bearer with anxious eyes, he felt a deep longing for his homeland and a great sense of responsibility towards his people. He could not help but think of the sufferings Gondor endured, he could not help but think of his father, of his old age and his fading strength. If only he would be granted the chance to set things right. Dark whispers haunted his dreams. Soon he found it harder and harder to tolerate the presence of the hobbits, Frodo's especially, and on their part they had grown uneasy with Boromir's constantly shifting mood. So he often strayed away from his companions.

Naethri was tormented as well by his deteriorating behaviour and looked at him with apprehension whenever he was near Frodo. She often followed him into the woods but when they finally met among the trees they would slowly come together as tormented lovers. Naethri would obstinately avoid exploring her feelings unwilling to overthink the reasons that drew her to him so irrevocably, Boromir on the other hand would rush into his without a second thought if only because she was the only clear vision in the blurred nightmare he slowly was falling into.

Naethri seemed to be particularly ill-humoured to all, so much so she often abandoned the Fellowship even during their meals. Mostly she was bothered by the shifty behaviour Boromir sported around Frodo. She had grown to see him as a threat to the hobbit and she often circled their camp like a famished wolf stalking a prey. Several times she snapped at Boromir for the most inconsistent reasons but it soon became evident to all how protective she turned towards Frodo.

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**A Note**: In case you are interested the flowers that grow on Cerin Amroth are the Elanor, yellow and star-shaped, and the Niphredil, which means litterally 'snowdrop' and it blooms in the winter. I'm pretty sure the second grew in Lorien while the Fellowship was there since they were there between january and febuary and I don't really remember the descriptions in the book so I'm taking a guess with the elanor..!


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